snowstorm

Supposed to be gearing up for the big U of T instructors' Christmas party - Wychwood Barns, lovely food, wine flowing, colleagues to catch up with. But there's a blizzard out there, and with the wind chill, they say it's minus 21. Here's what I'm looking at right now:
I have the feeling I'll be staying right here. I hate to miss a good party, and God knows I'm not invited to many - but trying to get northwest right now, perhaps not. A good time to hunker down.

So I'm hunkering.

Sad. No, just quiet, withdrawing. It's only 4.10, too early for wine. Only one thing will heal this savage breast: music. Either Johann Sebastian Bach or Paul McCartney, or both.

I just visited my dentist Rolf, where he and I, friends for decades, discussed getting old. "I'm not what I was," he said, this fine Quaker in his fifties. "The canoe feels heavier and the portages longer." If that's not the most Canadian thing to say, I don't know what is.

There's the cardinal! A flash of bright red through the blinding snow. A blessing. O Canada.