The days are getting shorter, the mornings darker, and the air colder than I remember agreeing to. Every year it sneaks up on me—the way the sun starts tapping out early, like it’s got better places to be. And every year, I swear I’m not ready for it.
A few days ago, the wind picked up and started throwing things around the yard like a toddler on a sugar high. My Halloween decorations didn’t stand a chance. The inflatable hearse was loosed from its tethers and ready to take flight; the skeleton had vanished somewhere into the neighbour’s yard, its bony ass sticking straight up into the air; and the lights tangled around its neck in a way that made me question my life choices. On the front porch, the skeleton dinosaur (another inflatable, not real—hopefully) was bobbing up and down as if nodding its head, mocking me.
And then, this morning, the universe decided to go one step further. I opened the front door and there it was—the first snowfall. A thin layer, but enough to say: good luck with that, pal.
Of course, I had to get my son to daycare. Which meant the age-old Canadian ritual: brushing snow off the car. It should be a simple task in theory, but when you’re still half-asleep, running late, and wearing thick socks that don’t quite fit inside your boots, it feels like a full-body workout.
I was out there, scraping and brushing, trying to clear the car of snow clinging to the windows as if its life depended on it, while snowflakes danced down like they were laughing at me. My son was in his car seat, offering moral support by yelling, “Cold! Cold!” every few seconds.
And then—because life loves a good punchline—the radio kicked on. “Ice, ice, baby.”
There I was, wind howling, snow in my hair, half a windshield visible, and Vanilla Ice telling me to “stop, collaborate and listen.”
I did stop. I did listen. And for a brief, delusional moment, I considered collaborating—with the weather gods—on a deal to bring back autumn.
But I didn’t. I brushed the rest of the snow, climbed into the car, and drove off, humming along to the song like the world’s most reluctant backup dancer.
Winter, you’ve made your entrance. Loud, dramatic, and with terrible timing—as always.
The CJBuzz 