Snowed in

We had a ton of snow dumped on us yesterday. 40 cm. I had a miserable day, but it ended well. Let me explain.

I set off for work at seven in the morning. I knew the buses would be running late, but my first bus wasn't too bad. When I got to Greenboro station I waited. The time for my bus passed. I waited some more. The O-Train arrived on the nearby train platform. The fellow next to me grumbled, "at least the trains are running on time." I sighed and wished that the O-Train went by my work (I think the new extension to Barrhaven will do so when it opens.) Route after route went by - some of them many times. While some buses were delayed, mine looked to be the only one ridiculously so.

Finally, after fifty minutes of waiting, a bus bearing my route number pulled up. Given the build up of an hour without the route in question, forty people spilled out of the station. The first twenty got on. In frustration, I shouted at the bus driver, "Is there another one soon? We've been waiting an hour!" He shrugged and said, "I'm the one from an hour ago."

When I finally was able to get aboard one, I went to my seat and found that half my transit ID was missing - the half with my picture had snapped off and fallen out. Almost in tears by this point, I ran up and down the bus frantically looking for it. But the bus filled up at the next stop, and I had to cease my search.

After leaving work, I pleaded my case with the bus driver, and told him I was headed straight to the OC Transpo office at the Rideau Center to get a new one. He smiled at me and let me on - thank God for small human kindnesses. At the OC office, I got my new ID, and bought a hard leather shield, one that will hopefully prevent my ID from snapping or falling out.

When I got home, everybody was in as bad a mood as I was. My wife and daughter were on their way to my niece's baby shower last night, along with my nephew's girlfriend. My wife was in distress about the condition of our house, so I got the vacuum out and fixed up the entrance hallway and stairs while she, my daughter, and an increasing number of people who were at our house straightened up the living room and kitchen. No longer able to bear the crowd of people in my house, I hid upstairs for a while. Then I hid in the basement practicing for Midnight Mass. My wife announced they were leaving, so I came up and kissed her goodbye.

When I came back upstairs, my older daughter looked shocked - then sheepishly admitted that "my friends are coming over." I leaned on the kitchen counter in distress. She was having a party, because she thought she had the house to herself. I couldn't bear this. What could I do?

It came to me. It had snowed. It had snowed a lot. I said, quite out loud, "I do know how to get the solitude I need!" I found my ski boots, put on my scarf, my ski jacket, and went out to the garage. I found my skis, but my heart sank when I could not find my ski poles. But with a bit of looking, they were there, and I reminded myself that the raincloud hovering over me was really one of my own making.

I walked over to Conroy Pit, where there is a huge toboggan hill and several forest trails. By this point it was ten at night, but in the city in winter, it never gets dark. The city lights bounce off the clouds, which in turn bounces off the snow, creating a feedback loop of light. To boot the moon was glowing behind the veil of clouds.

When I got to the tobbogan hill, I noticed that they've lit it up this year, just like at Green's Creek. So I climbed up the hill with my skis on... and about halfway up I realized just how huge the hill was. I said to myself, "This is stupid. I haven't done a hill this big on cross country skis in twenty years!" So I went down from there. I was fine - skiing is like riding a bike, you don't forget.

So I went all the way up, and went down. I have these superfast Telemark skis, so I bombed down the hill at super speed. But it was exhilirating. So I went up, down, up, down, carefully avoiding the two teenage boys who were there with a sled, doing jumps.

After starting to bore of this a bit, I went cross country into the forest. As I slid into the pine forest, I took a moment to appreciate where I was. The snow covered the pine boughs, the downed and hanging trees, and shrubs. Overhead, the moon cast down its light, and all around the snow glowed purplish-white in the soft light. I stayed and stood for an undefined period of time, one without real beginning or end, appreciating that I had been given the chance to snatch this out of the ruins of my day. Although I may not be a pantheist, I know God is present in moments like this. His snow has fallen on his trees in the moonlight like this for millions of years, and for a fleeting moment, I felt connected to every scene like this, across an eternity of winters.

How petty a thing is one day of small, trifling inconveniences on a canvas as large as the one I had been painted on.

Walking home with my scarf in my pocket and my coat unzipped, I knew my bad day was not quite done. I had a house full of loud nineteen and eighteen year olds to face. But I had been given my small moment of grace. I knew it was enough to carry me right to the end of things.