EDMONTON EXISTENTIAL

Something in the Air

Ann has two weather apps on her iPhone. I have a third alternative on my iPad. Every morning we select the day’s forecast we most prefer. We’re no more logical than a cat who assumes the weather outside the front door must be different than the weather outside the back door and vice versa. January is like November, a month that seems to pack a sixth week.

Come February the mood around the Crooked 9 begins to lift beneath a seemingly inflated and bluer sky. Ann plays the solar chariot races on her weather apps; any day now sunset will be after five o’clock. Talk about happy hour. There’s an array of grocery store primroses in four-inch pots on the dining room table, colours of spring. It’s time to gently pry open those eye-catching packets filled with a few seeds of promise now displayed on many retailers’ power aisle. We’ve been saving egg cartons throughout the winter, recyclable germination vessels.

There’s a tantalizingly suggestive ring of green grass around the mossy base of one of our white and black birch trees. There’s a jerry can of gasoline in the garage for the old Honda mower, and I’ve made a note to purchase a litre of four-stroke motorcycle engine oil to lubricate its motor. I want to move Ann’s three massive, soil-filled terracotta flowerpots off their winter storage porch platform. I can barrel roll them to the stairs but the next few steps are trickier. That reminds me, the stairs leading up to the back door need to be re-stained. The task is an annual rite but this season’s freeze and thaw cycle has been particularly robust making our winter conditions icier than normal. I’ve been wearing cleats for outside chores and they’ve chewed up the planks. 

Dawn lit up the horizon on Saint Valentine’s Day, a rosy colour. Outside the air smelled clean, refreshed, as if someone had opened a window on our world. I was sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette in the chill on the front porch, breathing all of it in, girding for another grim session with the headlines in the morning newspaper. I rolled my shoulders, shaking off that sloped winter hunch.

Two skunks, their bushy tails up, ran down our neighbours’ front walk at cartoon velocity. I’ve never seen a skunk do anything other than shuffle or waddle under moonlight, not exactly silver streaks these nocturnal critters. Even the magpies gathering twigs for their nest high up in the mountain ash above the power lines paused to cast their beady eyes on the mating race. The skunks cornered the city sidewalk and scampered up the driveway two doors down. They did another frisky lap. I laughed. Spring! Their third lap was a varmint variant: they came my way.

Very recently certain family members politely requested that I not swear in the presence of our granddaughter. I do tend to use curses as commas should the conversation turn to current affairs, the Montreal Canadiens or fucking everything else that pisses me off. As the skunks approached me, I exclaimed, “Oh dear!” They came to a sudden stop and then turned tail. I ditched my cigarette and coffee and ran back indoors, where Ann and I have spent the past few months anyhow.

meGeoff has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of advice for smitten lovers since 2013. My novella Of Course You Did is my latest book. Visit www.megeoff.com to find your preferred format and retailer.