“Snowstorm of March 8^, 2008 and Warm Memories”           

I turned on our outside floodlights, which over-looked our back yard and pool area; all I could see was a laced curtain of snowflakes rapidly falling. Oh how beautiful the sight was.

Tired of our brutal winter and waiting for this so-called early spring to start, hour to hour, I kept looking out through our glass patio doors, I was amazed to see how much snow had falling in the course of a four-hour span.

With the floodlights shining down on the soft feathery pure white snow, I saw hundreds of what looked like sparkling diamonds, all inviting me to come out and frolic with them. As I looked around our backyard, I noticed hour by hour the snow drifts were getting higher and higher, creating waves of snow mounds, it reminded me of ocean waves, except snow waves were quieter that ocean waves, oh but, the scenes itself was breath taking.

I made myself a hot cup of tea and sat at our oak kitchen table just watching the snow falling, it suddenly brought back warm memories of myself as a young child living somewhere in the city of Toronto, Ontario. We succumbed to a heavy snowfall, much like this one, almost fifty years ago this particular one-day in early February, when all schools were canceled for the day much to our delights.

I remember how my brothers and sisters were all shouting out with glee, while trying to hurry through our breakfast, not tasting the nutritious hot bowl of oatmeal, raisins, along with downing a tall glass of cold milk.

Finally, armed with dry mittens, scarves, boots and shovels, we somehow managed to push out the front door as we reached around, and with our hands pushing away the built up snow that was blocking us inside our warm house.

Digging our way out to the sidewalks, we didn’t care where we piled the snow, we just wanted to get the daunting task over with and join our friends, who were all probably thinking the same thing.

Once out on our cleared off sidewalk, my brothers and I looked up and down the neighborhood, it made us excited and at the same time we laughed to see all our army of childhood friends who already finished at the same time as we did.

We could almost read each other’s minds while we all were pondering what to do with that newly falling pure white snow. Oh the joy we felt that day, no school and all that snow.

Some of us began making snow Angels on the untouched soft snow, while some of the older ones began building snow forts, some were picking and choosing, who were going to be the enemies and which ones were going to be the good guys. The snowball fights suddenly began, “one down, nine to go” came the shouting, while at the same time, some of us girls tried to make igloos. First we would pile up huge mounts of snow on an empty parking lot, taking us younger ones forever, next we dug out a tunnel, making it into a special little magical room inside.

We would argue who was going to be the king and queen to sit inside the imaginary castle, while some argued that it was not a castle, but an igloo for the our poor Eskimos.

And while the debating was going on, snow Angels were being made in every form of sizes and shapes, challenges and contests took place to see whose Angles were the very best of the bests.

That same morning, snowmen were being skillfully constructed to every height and width, wearing only buttons and carrots galore. Some wore funky looking hats and multi-coloured hand knitted scarves, broken tree branches were plugged into the snowman’s sides for arms.

Once again, everyone tried to judge whose snowman looks the best, only to bring on more snowball fights, a private child hood war.

Noon hour came only too quickly and everyone’s mothers began to call out every child’s name through the open doorways, to come in for some homemade hot soup or left over stews from the night before, warming our cold bellies.

While mothers everywhere in the city of Toronto, were hanging up our wet mittens and snowsuits, we plowed through our tasteless lunches trying to be the first one out the door, while in our young minds, thinking the snow will be all gone come tomorrow.

What we didn’t understand back than, how our dear mothers managed to find more dry mittens and clothing, God bless them for understanding our young minds.

Our afternoon was once again, spent repeating that mornings playing cycle; only this time to be mildly disappointing to see all the freshly falling pure white snow was, all firmly packed down and looking kind of grayish. With our mother’s warnings, we were not allowed to leave our home-turfs, so we had to make do with the packed down-grayish snow.

Dinner calling was announced; we all said our goodbyes with promises to be very best friends at school recesses and with promises of no more name-callings up and down our streets.

Our mother’s hot dinner of stew or pasta made us all feeling heavy and blissfully tired. It was off the to bed early, and off we all went without any arguing, much to our mother’s delights. With teeth brushed and all dressed in our heavy flannels of pajamas or nightgowns, finally sliding under the heavy piles of blankets and lastly, with a silent prayer for another heavy snowfall and another canceled school day. Off to dreamland we went.

Those warm memories still make me smile, but at the same time, sad to see the likeness of us, even back than, fighting amongst our young ourselves have carried over into our adult years, this time, with other countries fighting with each others instead of our childhood friends.

I often wondered, is this human’s nature to fight or will this be our way of life forever? We will never really know.

Perhaps this is God’s way of leaving us with our childhood memories intact to fall back on during our times of troubles.

Little did we know our plays of childhood war games would become our future realities!

Thank God, for the warm memories of our childhood experiences, except, for some people who were not so fortunate to have had an opportunity to experience, a fond memory that they, one day during a bad time in their life to call up and reminisces, I paint here, a picture for their tormented minds and souls, warm memories of their own, to fall back on, believing they too were one of those lucky children out there making a snowman of their own, someone who they can tell their problems to. God bless all children.