Cold Hands, Warm Heart (or: "Swim Nerds Meet for Coffee and Then Freeze Their Tails Off")

This morning I met a friend for breakfast at one of Montreal's little neighborhood cafes: the sort of place where you can have excellent coffee - we both had bowls of latte - and a fresh croissant or chocolatine or muffin, and sit at a pleasant table in the sunlight for a long chat. She and I met through singing, but now we're both swimmers too, and we spent a good part of our time together today being swimming nerds, talking about goggles and suits and stroke mechanics, and alternate-side-breathing vs one side, and how our necks aren't symmetrical. You would have loved it. No? Well, that's why we needed to get together.

We caught up on family stuff and singing and talked a little about politics, but agreed not to dwell on it. It turns out that we're both thinking about studying another language, or taking up a new instrument. It was a great way to start a day, and reminded me of the importance of seeing the people you love, and continuing to do the things that you're passionate about, regardless of what's going on in the world, as much as you can, for as long as you can.

Then we bundled up, and she walked back to her place, and I walked back to the studio, and, I swear by the leaping polar bears, was it ever cold! There's a storm system approaching from the south and it's damp as well as cold; I was OK in my body and head underneath layers of down and fleece, but my legs felt the way they used to when I was a kid walking home from school - first cold, then almost numb. I had on leather gloves and woolen mitts over the gloves, and even so I kept having to stick my hands in my pockets. For long walks on days like this, I told myself, I need to wear tights under my jeans, or an even longer coat.

I ducked into the sheltered entryway of this flowershop, to warm up.

I stopped at the market and bought a couple of cans of tunafish, to warm up.

I stopped at the artisanal bakery and bought a loaf of bread, to warm up.

You've really got to be crazy to live up here, I thought, as the wind howled down the alley. But there's something so exhilarating about it, too: the extremes, the survival, the memories you accumulate of adventures in winters past, and the delight of going into the warmth of an interior after being out in it, as you thaw out and the feeling returns to your skin and something warm to drink spirals down your throat.

On the street, I watched a young mother and her child as they approached me and went past. The mother, bubbling with enthusiasm, carried a bright orange plastic sled, and had a small dog on a leash; they must have been going off to the park. The little boy, only 2 or 3, trudged behind her, all bundled in his puffy snowsuit and boots, and wearing a red hat with an animal face on the brim and little floppy ears. He looked up at me and grinned, his cheeks so red from the cold, but without a hint of complaint, and I thought, yep, he's already Canadian.

Comments

[Natalie]

I love loooove this photo, Beth, with that marvellous hat (hood?) and scarf framing your wonderful face. A Dutch painting, maybe, but far more lively and joyous. By the way, a hairstyle like this would really suit you!

[Martine Pagé]

It's 3pm and I just came back indoors after spending an hour trying to break the ice in the driveway so that we can go in and out without killing ourselves. I'm sure the mailman took one look at the driveway and gave up on bringing us the mail today. My recently retired neighbour (who, I suspect, is bored to death with her new life), had been out there picking at the ice since 10am, with only a very short lunch break.

At one point, I was spreading salt on the ice in the sloping driveway and I just started to involuntarily slide down towards the street. I just let myself go, knowing there was no point in fighting my graceful descent on this improvised "patinoire". My neighbour lifted her eyes from her ice axe and watched me slowly slide down. We laughed and got back to work.

So yeah. You have to be crazy to live here :)

[Sharyn]

I remember winter in Montreal! We had Canadian army coats bought for 5.00. Looked like the monkey army in Wizard of Oz. I remember going out for a walk one Christmas Day when it was 25 below.
Here in the Whites, January was 8 degrees above normal.
Get some silk long underwear if you insist on wearing jeans in winter! You can get them to just below your knee.
I have some great winter pants with a soft lining, from one of the sport clothes places. The outer layer is some kind of fine woven material. They're not pretty but comfortable not matter how cold and comfortable indoors too.
I don't wear jeans until spring.

[Duchesse]

I love your photo! I remember the first winter here, there was a big snowbank outside our place, and it suddenly started heaving Turned out a three year old had made himself a little fort, and was in his imagination, conducting some kind of raid. I watched a snowsuited leg emerge, then the other, and finally a mittened hand, which was clutching... a croissant. A true Montréaler.

I agree with Sharyn, get long underwear, it will change your life. I have the silk kind she advises (LL Bean) but for the very coldest days they're not warm enough-the lightest ski weight ones then. Or those soft-shell snowboard pants she mentions, but you do need two layers, not one.

[Marly Youmans]

Bitter day here! Lots of new snow and wind and more new flakes. I wore so many layers, I became two of me.

I have no trouble forgetting politics and doing my work. I've always been that way, though--I have never had the bug for the political. I think about things, and then I forget. No doubt it is a flaw, according to most people.