Bread, Butter and Bacon

“Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.” ~Plutarch, Moralia

I live in Northern Alberta. We are a people who take -35C as if it were a walk in the park. We know our grandparents stories of “when I was your age snow drifts were higher than the barn” are true because we’ve seen them for ourselves.

Spit freezes before it hits the ground and our nostrils freeze shut if we inhale too deeply.

Eyelashes become covered with frost then melt and cause rivulets of mascara to run down our cheeks when we go indoors.

We thumb our noses at old man winter and defy him to wreck his frigid havoc upon us hearty courageous folk.

Oh, who am I kidding. -35 was a lot more fun when I was a kid and didn’t have to warm up my vehicle and take Advil for the aching in my bones.

All I want to do is wear flannel and eat grease and carbohydrates….the three “Bs”



and bacon.

It seems as though it really so cold as to freeze words before they are even uttered, and have them suspended frozen in the crystal ether until spring or at least until the weather turns. Which shouldn’t be too far of, prophetically by those who we believe know these things, only four days away when it’s supposed to warm up by 30 degrees.

And I have to admit, there is some comedy that comes with über subzero weather. The springs in your car seat get so stiff you can bump your head on the roof when you drive over bumps. Interestingly explosive things happen when you keep canned Coke on your balcony. The dry air causes hysterically static hair.

But, as much as I can sit here and attempt to amuse myself with whatever whimsy the harsh weather may provide, I am about to gravitate towards the flannel

and maybe even make myself some toast.

Fortunately I’m not desperate enough to break open the bacon.


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