One journalist's musings about the beautiful, bizarre world in which we live
I am in Ontario, once more.
My flight from Guatemala was interesting, to say the least. I flew from Guatemala to Houston Sept. 2, and had to take the flight from Houston to Toronto Sept. 3.
The Houston airport has become one of my least favourite places on earth. It’s only redeeming quality is the little train that shuttles between the FIVE small terminals and its Marriott Hotel. Might I add that the only food available outside of security after 7 p.m. are Chili’s sodium-ridden chicken caesar wraps and Starbucks coffee?
After a night spent sleeping in a massage chair listening to remixes of 80s and 90s classics – my personal fave being the Glee cast’s a cappella smash hit “Don’t Stop Believing” – my rest left something to be desired. Meaning I slept through check-in.
Forty minutes before my flight was set to take-off, I stood in the check-in line with three other unfortunate souls who had missed the check-in time.
Talking to the counter attendant a bit later, after the flight had taken off without me, he said had the three other people not been there, I might have been able to squeeze in through security. Lovely.
About four hours and a terrible bean-and-egg breakfast later, I was on my plane headed home. It was difficult not breaking into the Spanish “Gracias” when handed my little cup of tea.
* * *
Now I’m in Barrie. Toronto. On the way to Ottawa. I’m amazed by the expansive spaces without people. I’m shivering at the cold. It’s not the temperature; it’s actually quite warm right now. It’s the threat of cold that seems to linger in the air, an inescapable feeling that has come to define Canada in my mind. The trees prepare for long winter, shedding their leaves. The bugs don’t grow to overly-ambitious sizes, knowing the cold weather will kill them off anyway. Every once in a while, a breeze flies past me, reminding me that Arctic airs are on their way.
I’m not going to stick around too much for their arrival.
Bolivia. Argentina. I’m working my way there.
Screw winter. I want summer again.
I live for the cold desert winter climate absolute. There are only a few moments in my life that things become so real to me that they possess me entirely.
There is a peaceful serenity that surrounds a two or three foot deep expanse of virgin snow on a field, meadow or lake (in my case, a roof) that has not been touched by any other footprint, human or not. The sight of my breath on the wind. The clean. The new. Short days & long nights… The promise of forgiveness the planet gives us every year. Nothing remains the same from year to year, season to season.
I know spring and summer are around the corner. Then fall, leaving the expectation of change. Always the reason to be optimistic about weather, about family and friendships, about life. The change in life the seasons bring, especially winter. It can, teach anyone, who relishes the equatorial changes of the Earth, to be able to cope and accept change. All people should be so lucky to experience this. Many might be able to accept change more readily.
>I live for the cold desert winter climate absolute.
Well, that makes one of us.
Yes, you’ve captured a beautiful feeling!