by CHICKMELIONfreelance
Reminds me of growing up in the prairies. Growing up with my mum, a German immigrant and a very eccentric one at that! She hated cold and all that was involved with cold: the snow, snowmobiles, being outdoors , not to mention the total loss of fashion sense. I mean seriously how sexy can a pair of long john’s be…("Oh Got …Yohannas! …[He was my dad]…. get dos ugly sings off!” ) Got to understand, this is a woman who though camping meant roughing it in a 4 star hotel.
She could never understand our need to be outdoors playing (my sister and I) but she was determined to protect us from ourselves none the less. She faithfully packed us for safekeeping in the winters cold. I say this both lovingly and sarcastically all at the same time. Mind you in her defense the parries did get cold.
A pair of tights, a pair of long johns, a standard pair of socks, a pair of pants, a woolly pair of socks extended over these, ("Oh my God, I cant feel my toes, my legs…. my circulation's been cut off from the waist on down!…")
A t-shirt, a turtle neck, a sweater pulled over and a button up on top of all that. ("Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?")
Here comes the full length , one piece, suitable to minus 666 degrees of pure hell, snowsuit! Parka in Canadian terms, portable sauna I call it. You getting stuffed in it, there's just no other way to describe it.
Then on comes the toque. Do you remember them ? They were like old fashioned night caps … with 4 feet of ample wool to place on the head and to wrap several times around the mouth, nose and throat with yarn to spare. And don’t forget the fluffy pom-pom on the end that always intrigued the cat. Enticed it to crawl up the back and try to tear off with that fluffy ball; so nicely attached to the toque, wrapped tight around the face and throat…("Damn cat…… if I catch you, I’ll put you in doll clothes again!")
One pair of finger mitts and another pair of wool gloves to top that…..and an insulated pair of skidoo gloves over that. ("Who needs manual dexterity, wasn‘t like I was going outside to play! ")
Now on with the boots.
Look out…lift the chin, she’s gonna zip it up. You remember last time...still got the scars, but the scab is almost gone.
On with the hood and tie it tight. Make it a double knot …no…triple for safe keeping! And speaking of safe keeping, here’s another scarf over the face. The only flesh showing now were the whites of the eyes and if the store sold fabric to cover that too…no doubt I’d be wandering around in the snow blind!
Now I know how the gingerbread man felt. I can’t put down my arms. I can’t bend my legs. If I fall down, I am screwed! All anyone would hear would be a muffled “…..elp!….” Did I mention the dogs I grew up with? Who lived by only a few simple rules. One being, “what ever hit the ground was fair game.” Jumping all over you, kicking snow in the face. Don’t worry they’ll lick it off. Taking a nip here and there..come on it’s all in fun. And they took all opportunity to have fun. They seemed to know I was defenseless. Don’t know what their problem was, I never stuffed them in doll clothes, they were too big! ("Am gonna tie them to my toboggan though…See if I can get a free ride up hill! Gonna fake eating snow, that always lures them in close enough to grab them.")
Getting dressed to go outside was at least a half hour ritual…all according to my mother’s expectations and specifications…no short cuts! And no doubt, as if a ritual as well, when fully clad I would inexplicably and uncontrollably have to yell…
“I got to peeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!”
Indeed it only ends to begin again!
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