World's Worst Canadian

EMC Editorial - It's that time of year again. That unpleasant stretch between New Years and the first signs of spring where everything is cold, gray, dark and icy. Where you have to leave your house 15 minutes earlier than normal to scrape inches of snow, ice and frost off your windshield, and where going outside even to simply walk from the house to the car seems like a daunting task due to all the extra clothing that needs to be tracked down and put on.

The general Canadian opinion of the dead of winter is, as a rule, quite reactionary - almost to the degree of distasteful defensiveness. Anyone who dares to complain about the weather is nearly always met with some version of "suck it up, it's Canada" or "maybe if you dressed properly for the winter you wouldn't be so cold."

Even television commercials love to champion "winter proud," jingoist messages, like how no self-respecting Canadian decides to wait for a warmer day to accomplish an outdoor task. I, on the other hand, avoid doing pretty much anything outdoors from late-October until about mid-April.

Other commercials do their best to promote the aesthetic beauty of run-down old arenas at 5 a.m. hockey practices for eight-year-olds. I have never been to a hockey arena at 5 a.m., rundown or otherwise. All the same, I think I can say with a good deal of confidence that to me, there would be absolutely nothing magical or aesthetically pleasing about such a place at such an ungodly hour.

I suppose that makes me the world's worst Canadian.

It is true, though, that there are many out there who do manage to genuinely enjoy winter, and even I have to admit that they can make the season look quite beautiful. A number of my Facebook friends seem to be avid skiers and snowboarders, and regularly post photos of themselves and their friends dressed in colourful, cosy-looking gear, riding gondolas up mountains then posing at the summits, presumably just seconds before gracefully gliding back down to the chalet where some well-deserved hot chocolate and snacks await at the après-ski.

A part of me longs to join their ranks. Then I remember that where there are mountains and snow there are likely also to be biting wind chills and dry, bitterly freezing air that make my nose bleed and the skin on the back of my hands crack and peel. My body, it seems, simply cannot take it.

Ottawa's Rideau Canal also photographs beautifully in the winter (or any other season, for that matter). I lived in Ottawa for four years, and admittedly did enjoy a number of jaunts up and down the world's longest skating rink.

Then on my last two visits, I managed to fall squarely on my left kneecap and tailbone, respectively. The only thing more painful than the first tumble was the second, and I've shied away from the canal ever since like the terrible, wimpy little excuse for a Canadian I am.

Not to mention, there really is no cold like an Ottawa cold, and my notoriously dry skin did a lot of premature aging during the winters I spent there - doing nothing for this vain creature's opinion of the season.

At least I've never been one to pretend that I shouldn't have been born in California or the south of France instead of Ontario. Alas, this seems to be where I've ended up, and likely where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I'll just spend my winters curled up on the couch with a book, or in front of the TV watching the entire series of 30 Rock for nth time, or wistfully viewing your winter-happy photos on Facebook as I sit by my block heater with a big glass of red wine (or this year, a mug of pasteurized hot apple cider). Which has its own, odd sort of beauty, I suppose.

hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca