SNOW

Growing up in the sub-tropics, I used to imagine what it must be like being in the snow by sticking my head in the freezer. Back then, there was always a layer of soft ice frozen on the top of our freezer and I’d scrape it off with my fingers and stuff it in my mouth. I’d also make “snow balls” and throw them at my cat. Too bad I’d never tried to stick my tongue in the freezer. It would’ve made another awesome story.

In November, 1994, I saw real snow for the first time in my life at the old Vancouver International Airport (the current domestic terminal). I remember we were waiting for Chris Roworth (spelling?) to come pick us up when I excitedly ran outside into the cold. It felt nothing like sticking my head in the freezer. The snow was slushy and dirty and the air was so cold that it hurt my nose. I was disappointed. Everything I had heard and dreamt about snow melted in the car exhaust on the sidewalks of the old YVR.

One month later, I had what seemed to be a full on experience with snow in Toronto. I remember mistakenly thinking that a sweater and jacket would be sufficient for winter in Ontario because it was really sunny out. Boy, did I learn my lesson the hard way! I also remember throwing a fit on the street after walking along the somewhat deserted and seemingly endless Young Street in a cold December night. It wasn’t snowing but the air seemed frozen and the night seemed darker. My toes were cold in my brand new Dr. Martens, and I was cranky.

I wasn’t scared the first time I went skiing though. I didn’t think it’d be any more difficult than ice-skating (I did it for 3 years in high school). I got really bored and couldn’t concentrate on the bunny hill. It wasn’t so much that I was dying to feel the breeze in my hair skiing down the hill as I just wanted to get on the lift ‘cause it looked fun. So I did. I got on the lift, swayed my feet in the air for fun, admired the fantastic view, took in the fresh mountain air, looked down and got scared. It wasn’t long until I realized "what goes up must come down" and "I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SKI". Long story short, I went down the hill no problem when no one was watching but panicked last minute when I saw my friends waiting and cheering at the foot of the mountain. I lost my cool, tumbled down, and twisted my right knee. A curious crowd had gathered by the time they escorted me to First Aid on the back of a snow mobile.

My memory of skiing may be painful, but tobogganing was nothing less than a riot! Though we were never able to toboggan down the hill without turning over, though a couple of times I was crushed and my face was buried in the snow, I laughed and giggled and headed back up for more.

A few more winters came and went, my excitement about snow never ceased. I loved going for walks in Kitsilano on cold winter nights. The soft yellow lights and laughter coming out of the windows offer a perfectly dreamy picture of family warmth and comfort. My personal definition of Christmas is the white smoke and the smell of burning wood in the air. It was always fun telling secrets with girl friends over a bottle of wine in the blinking orange glow of a fire place. Nothing cheered me up more than pulling a sheet of freshly baked cookies out of the oven while it’s snowing out.

13 years after I saw snow for the first time, I’m back in the sub-tropics sitting in front of the TV nostalgic over images of snow-covered Canada on CNN Asia. The indoor thermometer reads 22 degrees Celsius. No snow.

This is not Canada.