A winter rookie’s running diary

Tuesday, April 7th, 2009

Gazette co-op student Melissa Kim moved to Tennessee when she was a toddler. Last summer, she moved to London. Since Melissa had no conscious memories of snow, we asked her to document her “first” experience in Canada’s winter wonderland.

Having never witnessed “real snow” after living in the United States’ Deep South the past 14 years, this winter’s first encounters of snow in London were not only well-chronicled, but horrifying. Here’s my diary of what transpired:

Dec. 4: Flurries. Is this the best those Canadian cold fronts can do? Not only am I unimpressed, but I spit at it (and the flurries melt within five seconds of contact with my saliva).


Dec. 7: The snow began this morning and hasn’t stopped all day. It started out as a tease, with light dandruff-like flakes, but now they’ve clumped into large, flecks of white confetti, proving that not even snow can be that innocent.

Dec. 8: I woke up crying, “I don’t understand!” when informed that school was cancelled today due to the fluffy white stuff (which, happily, isn’t anthrax). Four hours later I stepped onto what I thought was the sidewalk. I ended up leaving an imprint of my body like the crime scene it was after tripping into a mass of snow.

My poor shoes.

Dec. 9: I’m beginning to believe London is that winter wonderland from The Chronicles of Narnia, or at least the “Love Like Winter” music video by A.F.I.

Because C.S. Lewis is dead, I pray to A.F.I., as they are the new winter-weather gods. Thanks to them, I understand why white is the new black this season. Finally, something that matters.

Dec. 12: It’s all gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye, really. The best I could do was a Titanic-like, “I’ll never let go, Jack” farewell. But, unlike in the movie, the snowball I had clasped just dripped away from my hand, as if it were trying to get away.

At least Kate Winslet let go of Leo herself. I feel cheated.

Jan. 5: Since the panic attack of 2006, the snow has since disintegrated into drinking water, apparently never to disturb again. This is all very unfortunate, because after sharing the stories of my interactions, a.k.a. dramatic reactions to the snow, I’d been advised to bond with it.

However, not one flake has gallivanted near me since then. Oh well, I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of relationship. All I can say is this: we will meet again, snow. Oh yes, we will.

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