Life in the Snow Globe

Ontario has turned into a virtual snow globe this past week and I have been on the inside looking out, having been in quarantine with a death cold. Since I rarely succumb, and having been put out to pasture and therefore able to retire to my couch, I shall not complain. It is a sneaky bug; you are awakened in the night by that call of nature, and you just want to slip back into to bed without awakening the sleeping dragon, but it arises to tickle your throat. Then it unleashes a terrible thundering bark, which signals the sinuses to fill and then..the atomic sneeze. The walls vibrate and it is necessary to collect your pancreas and any other organ that was expelled in the explosion before you can retire once more. It is like having a house guest who stays long past his welcome, with the threat of a return for another stay. You are not quite sure if they have actually gone. I am cautiously optimistic today, that we are approaching the front door in the process of making our goodbyes.

On the up side, there really is no place like home, and home is the only place you want to be when you are sick. We live in a mature neighbourhood, which means that the view from the windows is full of lovely tree canopies that connect to form squirrel super highways. Right now there are a lot of high speed chases going on with lofty daredevil jumps, like some kind of action movie. While grey squirrels are more likely to approach to pick up peanuts when I put them out, and the black ones, which are really grey ones (true story), are more skittish, the black ones are more aggressive in the tree arena. In the forest however, the red squirrel, though much smaller, is the most aggressive...and vocal. 

Most of the backyard and boulevard trees are deciduous, so in the winter it is not unusual to see a Cooper's Hawk perched up high watching for something to eat. I don't think that my feeders have provided any avian meals for the hawks yet, but I have seen large numbers of sparrows suddenly disappear into the big spruce or the hedge to find cover.

The sparrows spend a lot of time perched on or in the "Burning Bush" or Euonymus alatus bush close to the house. You would think that the blue spruce next to it would be warmer and provide more protection, but they seem to feel safe in the dense thicket of branches and the clear view that the shrub provides. In the fall, if the bush gets enough sun, the leaves turn a glorious red, hence its familiar name. 

It is odd to see the bridge without any mourning doves or blue jays on its railings. I hope that the clematis I planted will survive the winter to grow up and over the bridge come spring. Sometimes my plants survive the weather but not the bunnies that might nest under the spruce. 

My grey-muzzled boy knows how to spend the winter in your golden years; couch, blanket and snooze. He still turns into a pup for the few minutes that it is necessary to leave the warmth and brave the cold. He has a little snuffle in the snowbank, and a gambol down the path that is shoveled for him, then back to the blanket. The pause that refreshes.

I got to thinking about winter when I was growing up. I remember wearing brown galoshes that went on over my shoes and closed at the top with a buckle. My first skates little metal frames with two parallel blades, that then buckled onto my boots. we would 'skate' on little patches of ice on the sidewalk and stay outside forever. It seemed to me that there was a lot of snow because I remember making forts in the pile of snow at the bottom of the driveway, and mazes on the front lawn. I went looking through the older photos to see if I could document my memories. 

What I discovered was that picture-taking was mostly for documenting summer vacations and family occasions and not winter frolic, so there was a dearth of photographic memories of the wintertime. This leads me to believe that the last photo might show a snowfall that was out of the ordinary. Well, it seemed like there was always a lot of snow, and I was shorter then. Ah well, good times, anyway.

Illness forces a timeout from the busy flow of life; sets you aside for a time, and imposes solitude and quietude. It is not comfortable emotionally or physically because it serves as a reminder of the fragility of life, and how it can change completely in a moment. It leaves you vulnerable, especially on those days when you think you may never, ever recover. So it occurs, that while taking medicine for the body, a little medicine for the spirit might also be in order, and just as important.