Ontario weather has some serious mood swings. The winter brings a cold that out of self defense and some sort of avoidance of cognitive dissonance we embrace with our skis, and parkas, and balaclavas. Then as we wait for the weeks and months to pass as we make snowmen with the kids and drink hot chocolates and marshmallows with gusto, we start to get a bit antsy. We say things like “it’s cold but at least the sun is shining. I can handle cold but it’s just so grey. I love a cozy night all tucked in from the cold”. Way down deep, below the layers of thermal and outerwear, we know it’s a sham. For those sashaying in Canada Goose Jackets and living it up in new aerodynamic catgut-less snowshoes, whenever the sun deigns to peek behind a cloud, we’re all over it. “Look! See! The sun will shine again. Winter is, in fact, not coming”. Shovels are stored away, snowblowers go blissfully silent and the suburban man makes his first appearance on the grass. It’s a big moment. First sunny Saturday morning said man can be found mowing and weeding and whipper snippering with abandon. Snow days are forgotten. The frigid winds that literally took one’s breath away as it was breathed in warm lungs are a dim memory to this magnificent heat of a post winter day. People are smiling. Neighbours practically hold hands and skip to the nearest gardening centre with eager smiles and shaking with not cold, but the thrill of being alive after another Ontario winter.
Parents arrive for pick up looking like they just left beachside. Flips flops, sunglasses, even a daring spaghetti strap or two appear where before existed a shivering mass of tuques, snowmobile mittens and layer upon layer of down, cotton and some scientifically manufactured wick away magic. The parents look like they were just awakened from hibernation. Stumbling into the sunshine that is only dim in memory. A collective reawakening. Ahh yes, I remember this sensation. Warmth. Ease. Vitamin D! Where parents once stood like cattle in a snowstorm braced against the elements, they are now turned towards this unfamiliar heat source soaking in whatever goodness it has turned on humanity. Frostbite? Raw dry lips? Stinging eye-watering bitter wind? Nope, never heard of them.
And then there is the moment when we have turned again, for we are a difficult species to please. While some seem to consider the sun as their life source, many now start to wonder why beads of sweat have started to appear on their brow despite the fact that they are now wearing three pieces of dental floss and a doily in their attempt to stay cool? Are my feet getting a little warm in my closed toe shoes? This happens until one can practically feel the age spots appear. They begin to imagine the summer inspired closeup selfies of them and their appearance to an old boot as they start to question their basking in these new found rays. “The children!” someone screams! They aren’t wearing protective clothing! The shade from their hats brim doesn’t quite cover their feet! They need sunscreen! Buckets! Bring the buckets! They can’t be out in this in their new skin! That pale one – cover her!” And so it goes for an Ontario summer.
The transition happens fast. We never see it coming. Did we have Spring? Yes, last Tuesday someone faintly suggests. I think I saw a tulip. Then the sun came. And it stays. It stays so long like that guest that is eyeballing the pullout in your living room. Rushing from the cold has been replaced by languid movements. We don’t want to waste movements or overexert ourselves in the heat. Suburban man still mows the lawn but earlier now to avoid the heat. We now seek shelter not from an angry wind and a temperature that perplexes even the most winter loving Canadians among us. It’s a heat that pushes and presses, making enemies of waistbands and socks. People search for the comfort of AC wherever it can be found. Picnics? Has the meadow got AC?
And yet people walk around conservatively saying jaunty phrases like “it’s a beautiful day! Can you believe this sunshine?” Denial. All of them coping with the residual angst of winter. If I was too cold and then could not wait for anything resembling warmth, then I must be happy. I will bask dammit. And bask I will. Beautiful day, eh?