My Bad

 I live in an area of the world where seasonal weather changes are as precise and drastic as it gets on this planet.  It is a place where it can be 30+ C above one part of the year - where if you did not have access to moving air and water you would expire within 30 minutes. 

It is also a place where 6 months later it can be
-30C where if you were exposed to any type of wind or water you would expire within 10 minutes if your body was not sufficiently covered, and even then after 20 minutes under the right wind and temperature conditions, you would have a hard time not succumbing to the elements.


I find that this continuous bombardment of cold temperature, blowing snow, shoveling, and daily dangers to health and extraneous limbs a time that stirs a strange hunger and yearning for law defying risk taking, along with the  ultimate chastisement from power figures that results in the exhibiting of the  rebel within my soul. 

No , I do not drive fast on icy roads.

No, I do not risk leaving the yard without candle and matches in the vehicle. 

No, I do not steal away randomly into stormy blizzards. I always have my cell phone fully charged. I always let people know when I am leaving and where I am going and when to expect me whenever I venture out for the upwards of 5 winter months we experience. 

No, I do not see how far I can walk one way across the snow laden field just to see if I can get back before my hands/ feet fall off in icy chunks.

  What is this evil torment that grips my being every winter that defies authority and reveals a certain weakness of character and moral uprightness coupled with  a certain saucy daring that spits in the eye of justice and social order?


I must now ask the reader to pause before reading further and consider  this writer with compassion and some understanding as I share this  obvious flaw of moral fibre, character lack and indeed, blatant disregard for ultimate world safety.
 
This is the source of the marring of my public esteem,  the stain upon my soul, and the searing scar  that can no longer be hidden from the world:



 It is that I cannot  resist the thrill of pure juvenile and irredeemable 'BADNESS' that runs down my spine as I  sit on my  stiff 'ice block like' car seat in my frigid  vehicle that spews  gaseous vapour  that rises at a right angle from the exhaust pipe while the temperature gauge slowly oh so slowly climbs from the left hand side of the gauge to the middle, all while I stare defiantly and full faced  for 10 minutes at the sign in the government parking lot that proclaims:

 

 

 

                         





 

How Cold is it Mr. Fox?

It is minus 33 degrees Celsius. Combine that with the wind speed it is equivalent to minus 47 in my part of the world.

I remember it being about minus 50 degrees about 25 years ago.  That was the time the rotor on the vehicle literally snapped off with a huge clang and a spurt as the motor came to a cold and grinding stop.

It is hard to image what people did  in the past or why they even did it in order to survive in this part of the world of such extreme weather conditions. 

What is it about this area that people have persevered with coping with the fact that if one left the shelter of their homes they would easily die just by the doing of it?  No wild animal attack, no rebel militia hunting them down, no poisonous gases or steep cliffs or torrential rains to sweep them away.  Just the simple turning of a door knob and the stepping away from the shelter for  even less than 10 minutes could determine one's  quick and surprisingly pain free demise.

Actually the pain would only begin when , and if , one returns to the warmth of the shelter. As toes and fingers begin to thaw there is a deep and burning itch which accompanies the deicing of human tissue . This discomfort can only be compared to  that which occurs when one finds that the zipper on the one piece snow suit one has unwisely donned is 'caught'* and the beads of sweat start forming not only along your hairline but also starts to roll down the your spine as you struggle and twist and bite your tongue trying to get the *#(&# thing to pull down.  Combine this with the inevitable consequence of  the condensation caused call of Nature that  occurs the moment one feels the indoor  warmth  and the panic filled realization that the socially acceptable conclusion is not probable within the next five minutes, makes the returning to the warmth of home and hearth almost as stressful and dangerous as the going out in the first place.


Things that I KNOW I have froze during my 60 years on the prairies are:

1. My ear. ..age 4...consequence of hat not being put on my head good 'nuff by my older sister.

2. My fingers....woolen mitts just do NOT do it for
-40 degrees.

3. My toes...consequence of curling on natural ice with just school shoes on during a day long high school bonspeil.  There were tears that day as I placed my feet against the heater of the vehicle on the way home--which in hindsight was NOT a good idea.

4. My whole body almost got really cold when the little truck ran out of gas on a Saturday night in January.  Good thing I was in town and not on our country road on the way home.  (pre CB radios, pre cell phones).

Cold Weather First Aid

* The rule of the stuck zipper is that the amount of liquid consumed prior to the going out is directly proportional to the amount of material caught in the track.