Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Salt frenzy: there IS a solution
Due to a couple of weeks of unseasonably cold weather, Vancouverites are scrambling around in their usual panic. White stuff is coming down out of the sky, and nobody knows what it is. This happens once every ten years or so. When it does, panic ensues. No one knows how to drive. No one knows how to WALK. There's this slippery stuff down there. The city offered citizens some free road salt, assuming everyone would be polite about it and take the allowed bucketful. That didn't happen.
The top story on CTV News (for several days running) had Tamara Taggert and Mike Killeen solemnly intoning about the Salt Frenzy resulting from Vancouver's "ice-pocalypse". To me, the whole thing looks fairly orderly, but who knows? If these people had been armed. . . (it would have been the United States). At least they didn't hit each other with their shovels.
I have the solution. Or at least, these people do. A handful of salt every few steps, with three adults and a child walking carefully in the salt-sprinkler's footsteps.
It works. But it wouldn't play very well on-air. Not enough frenzy, I guess.
Friday, December 9, 2016
Bracing for the avalanche
Having grown up in Southwestern Ontario, where a few feet of snowfall and minus-40 temperatures aren't that unusual (OK then, minus-20, but it was minus-40 in Alberta), I find the snow phobia in Vancouver somewhat laughable.
All week, and even last week, people have been anxiously talking about the horrendous blizzard which was about to hit the Lower Mainland on Thursday night. When I went to ask the pharmacist at Walmart about vitamins, she said, "I don't know about vitamins. Everyone wants to talk about the snowstorm coming."
The anxiety was palpable. Could we risk driving into the city to go to Ryan's Christmas concert on Thursday night, when the disaster was supposed to hit? We weren't sure. Everyone was telling us not to. Everyone told us cars were skidding all over the place and colliding, because nobody around here has ever heard of snow tires. (It's also hard to text and drive at the same time.)
So here's today's report for Friday, December 9, one day post-blizzard (emphasis mine):
A snowstorm that was expected to hit the Metro Vancouver area failed to materialize Thursday evening, but snow was beginning to fall across the region early Friday morning. (OMG - look at that thing! What is it? Is it a snowflake?)
After a witheringly cold, clear couple of days in Metro Vancouver ("better wear a jacket today, hon"), a major storm was set to hit the area late Thursday. While the weather was relatively clear Thursday night (oh come on, guys, admit it, you were WRONG about this!), another wave of precipitation is expected Saturday, though that will likely fall as rain at lower elevations. (In other words, it will rain. In Vancouver.)
With the entrenched Arctic air mass over southern B. C. and the looming (! Let's get some menacing language in here) Pacific storm, Metro Vancouver is bracing to respond to the weather challenges. (I see a good half-inch of snow on the ground outside my window.)
Insurance companies are bracing for another avalanche of calls (avalanche??) as the region braces for another snow storm. ("Bracing, braces - " was this written in a hurry?)
This week's icy and snowy weather has caused the city to burn through more than double the amount of salt and brine that it used last year (and OK, so it didn't snow last year - AT ALL! Some editor told this reporter, "For God's sake try to make this sound dramatic, so we won't feel like total fools!").
Saturday, December 3, 2016
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
A winter masterpiece by Scott Feschuk
Anticipation, not denial, is the first step of winter
It’s that difficult time of year again, but come on people, we can get through this together. To better navigate our ordeal, it’s important that we take the time to review the challenge ahead. Here are the seven stages of Canadian winter:
1. Anticipation. As the long, hot summer surrenders to the first hint of an autumn breeze, many of us experience a small thrill: winter is on its way, bringing relief from the heat and promising the many splendours that accompany the most Canadian of seasons. We envision snow-flecked landscapes, ice-covered ponds and joyful Christmas choirs. Digging deep into the closet, we gaze fondly upon our parkas and mitts. We dream of frosty adventures ahead.
2. Despair. The first cruel winds of November cut through us and we pretty much want to fall down and die right there. Three days of hostile muttering ensue.
3. Sarcasm. A huge December snowfall—awesome! And maybe a little freezing rain in there because THAT WOULD BE PLEASANT. Wake up and there’s a metre of snow in the driveway—and hey, great, it’s the wet, slushy kind that weighs about a squillion pounds per shovelful and lays those of weak heart in their graves. Yay winter! Just when we finally get it cleared—literally, just as we finish clearing it away—the plow pushes a huge drift back in front of the driveway. Thanks for that, buddy! And for the record, that could have been anyone’s snow shovel that flew through the air and struck the window of the plow’s cab. We only ran away because we were in the mood for some exercise.
4. Rationalization. Typically this stage is triggered by an enjoyable day spent outdoors. We are imbued with the belief that not only can we survive winter, we can learn to love it. We vow to plan more outings. We settle in for hot chocolate by the fireplace. We look out the window into the deep black of a winter’s night and we are content . . .
5. Swearing. . . . until we realize it’s only 4:35 p.m. Sweet mother of @!%*#. It’s pitch black when we go to work! It’s pitch black when we come home from work! There’s more daylight in Das Boot. HUMANS WEREN’T MEANT TO LIVE LIKE THIS, BY GOD! Our stylish leather boots are salt-stained. The legs of our pants are salt-stained. Our will to live is salt-stained, and that’s not even possible. At work, the guy two cubicles over is wearing the same wool sweater for the third time this week. It smells like a wet ferret. And now we smell like a wet ferret. Morning comes and the ice on our windshield is thick, so thick, and we take our scraper and we just hammer on it and hammer on it until we crumble to the driveway, spent and weeping. Later, at Starbucks, we overhear some cheerful idiot saying the Inuit have dozens of ways of saying “snow.” We tell him we’ve got hundreds of ways of saying, “Shut the $@*# up.” The ensuing conversation with management centres on whether we’re banned from all Starbucks or just this one.
6. Despair. It’s late February. The snowshoes we got for Christmas are still in their box. Communication among family members has devolved to a series of grunts, crude drawings and middle fingers. In this dark moment, a decision is made. The next person who comes up to us and says, “Cold enough for ya?”—we are going to murder that person. Not secretly. Not with any foresight or planning. We are going to reach out with our bare hands and we are going to strangle the life out of that person right then and there, and if anyone tries to get in our way then we are going to murder them as well because we just. Can’t. Take it. Anymore.
7. Despair. The neighbours are back from their March break trip to Florida. They’re all tanned and perky, and they sure seem eager to come over and tell us all about it—right up until they spot the barbed wire and land mines. They back away slowly. Spring is coming. It must be coming. But the nights still are long, and in our dreams we hear only the swish-swush snowsuit sound of the longest of the seasons.
(This bit of genius from Macleans Magazine needs no preface and no post-face, cuzzadafact that it's PERFECT THE WAY IT IS.)
Photo Illustration By Taylor Shute
It’s that difficult time of year again, but come on people, we can get through this together. To better navigate our ordeal, it’s important that we take the time to review the challenge ahead. Here are the seven stages of Canadian winter:
1. Anticipation. As the long, hot summer surrenders to the first hint of an autumn breeze, many of us experience a small thrill: winter is on its way, bringing relief from the heat and promising the many splendours that accompany the most Canadian of seasons. We envision snow-flecked landscapes, ice-covered ponds and joyful Christmas choirs. Digging deep into the closet, we gaze fondly upon our parkas and mitts. We dream of frosty adventures ahead.
2. Despair. The first cruel winds of November cut through us and we pretty much want to fall down and die right there. Three days of hostile muttering ensue.
3. Sarcasm. A huge December snowfall—awesome! And maybe a little freezing rain in there because THAT WOULD BE PLEASANT. Wake up and there’s a metre of snow in the driveway—and hey, great, it’s the wet, slushy kind that weighs about a squillion pounds per shovelful and lays those of weak heart in their graves. Yay winter! Just when we finally get it cleared—literally, just as we finish clearing it away—the plow pushes a huge drift back in front of the driveway. Thanks for that, buddy! And for the record, that could have been anyone’s snow shovel that flew through the air and struck the window of the plow’s cab. We only ran away because we were in the mood for some exercise.
4. Rationalization. Typically this stage is triggered by an enjoyable day spent outdoors. We are imbued with the belief that not only can we survive winter, we can learn to love it. We vow to plan more outings. We settle in for hot chocolate by the fireplace. We look out the window into the deep black of a winter’s night and we are content . . .
5. Swearing. . . . until we realize it’s only 4:35 p.m. Sweet mother of @!%*#. It’s pitch black when we go to work! It’s pitch black when we come home from work! There’s more daylight in Das Boot. HUMANS WEREN’T MEANT TO LIVE LIKE THIS, BY GOD! Our stylish leather boots are salt-stained. The legs of our pants are salt-stained. Our will to live is salt-stained, and that’s not even possible. At work, the guy two cubicles over is wearing the same wool sweater for the third time this week. It smells like a wet ferret. And now we smell like a wet ferret. Morning comes and the ice on our windshield is thick, so thick, and we take our scraper and we just hammer on it and hammer on it until we crumble to the driveway, spent and weeping. Later, at Starbucks, we overhear some cheerful idiot saying the Inuit have dozens of ways of saying “snow.” We tell him we’ve got hundreds of ways of saying, “Shut the $@*# up.” The ensuing conversation with management centres on whether we’re banned from all Starbucks or just this one.
6. Despair. It’s late February. The snowshoes we got for Christmas are still in their box. Communication among family members has devolved to a series of grunts, crude drawings and middle fingers. In this dark moment, a decision is made. The next person who comes up to us and says, “Cold enough for ya?”—we are going to murder that person. Not secretly. Not with any foresight or planning. We are going to reach out with our bare hands and we are going to strangle the life out of that person right then and there, and if anyone tries to get in our way then we are going to murder them as well because we just. Can’t. Take it. Anymore.
7. Despair. The neighbours are back from their March break trip to Florida. They’re all tanned and perky, and they sure seem eager to come over and tell us all about it—right up until they spot the barbed wire and land mines. They back away slowly. Spring is coming. It must be coming. But the nights still are long, and in our dreams we hear only the swish-swush snowsuit sound of the longest of the seasons.
(This bit of genius from Macleans Magazine needs no preface and no post-face, cuzzadafact that it's PERFECT THE WAY IT IS.)
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