when it snows.
snow days used to mean magical things to me as a little bean on the north side. living directly on the harbour came with curvy waves of snow banks that lurked up half the height of my parents’ small house. the chimney didn’t exist on a snow day, save to shoot smoke up from the guts of our big-belly wood stove. the stove has a face that either looks like a very rotund man with a kind-of creepy pringles-man-type mustache, or like a stereotypical representation of a jolly sun-god. my sister and i would tramp and trundle in from the side entrance and directly into the unfinished and probably haunted basement because mom would legitimately murder us if we dampened the living room. there was no banister going down the basement stairs, so one had to take extra caution when creeping down in snow-packed boots. one misstep and someone’s going to get the wind knocked out of them. once successfully on stable cement, the shake down would commence. i’m pretty sure my favorite part of drying out was picking the huge clumps of snow that would glob onto my hair like melting gum. it was also super fun to kick your snow boots off as hard as you could to see how far they’d fly across the room. we’d lug our dripping hats and mittens back upstairs and lay them flat next to the hot stove. i was always terrified to put my fleeces and woollens directly onto the stove itself after a mishap at four years old when i tried to ‘clean’ the living room for dad when mom was away on a work trip. i had lined the television remote up with the vents of the stove itself, thinking that it looked neater than leaving it on the floor or losing it to the mushy couch. the remote melted and i learned about heat and plastics. anyway. the woolies didn’t go on the stove. hot chocolate went into the bellies if friends were over for post-sledding snacks and warm-ups. super nintendo was a pretty good way to limber up frozen fingers.
but before any of that post-play release, there had to be cause for exhaustion. this depended entirely on the consistency of the snow and whooshy-ness of the wind. puffy snow and huffy wind? you’re gonna have a bad time with that crazy carpet, little one. you’ll probably get a cut across your face when the wind picks it up and slides it like a paper cut across your chubby cheeks. damp and sticky snow? build something! make yard art. make some for the neighbours. and make a fort and as many snowballs as possible because you know the boys who live down the street are going to try to make you miserable later. it is nighttime? beg your parents to take you to the golf course and invite the friend who owns a GT snow racer…clearly santa likes him way more…not that you’re bitter or anything…huge snow drifts are for burrowing and chopping away at complicated tunnels. also: your tunnel has to have either a cool thing that happens when you reach the end, providing that it doesn’t collapse on your head. if it’s super cold and icy, bring your skates to munroe park and skid across the massive frozen puddle that, months ago, was a soccer field. fall over from the wind. eat a bunch of snow! don’t eat the yellow stuff. and wherever you walk, slide your feet and pretend like everything is a rink. do. not. let. anyone. steal. your. sled. cardinal rule. and when you run inside convinced that you will surely pee yourself if this one-piece monstrosity had any more buckles, you better believe you’re going to dive back into that damp sucker and continue the day sliding on your bum. pray that the neighbour doesn’t tell his parents that you accidentally hit him with a chunk of ice.
when you grow older, a snow day will be the most relieving break from school. your friends (though they might be 16 years old and otherwise too cool to play) will throw themselves downhill and will still go skating on the frozen puddle that’s still there in the middle of the soccer field. dope will do a pocket run and everyone will cringe and then secretly hope that he does another one. or five? (fyi: a pocket run is exactly what it sounds to be – you put your hands deep in your pants pockets and run down a hill really fast. basically you’re supposed to hope for the best, but you know what you’re getting yourself into if the worst things happen). snow days might mean begging a danger-slide to sydney mines so you can sled the next town over. maybe a snow day is actually a ski day with dad. maybe it’s staying inside.
when you’re an experimental and wildly neurotic third-year english major eating enough vocabulary to inspire a self-diagnosed mean bout of anxieties and expletives (also known to some as ‘bean learns how to be offensively self-centered’), a snow day is a slip-and-slide ankle-busting stomp down graham avenue where you lose a mitten for the sake of a fall. it’s finding a rescue bear buried and dirtied in a mile-high snowbank with bradington. it’s a play rehearsal goes on anyway, folks, because you all live close enough to campus to walk, ya big stupid. it’s getting lost in three feet of snow. it’s dance parties in the middle of the street because no one would drive in this weather. it’s fredericton winter! it’s goddamn intense. it’s so, so fun. it’s so, so cold. your cheeks will hurt from smiling at the ice hanging from your eyelashes. your cheeks will hurt from violent stray strands of wet hair gone frozen. it’s freeing and youthful and fulfilling and yeah you’ll probably never see the snow pants i borrowed from you ever again.
snow days still mean magical things, even if they don’t excuse a day of school or involve really wild underground tunnel-digs. this snow day is a surprise day free of work and responsibilities and all about being an (almost) fully-functional adult in snow pants and sliding around on a garbage bag. spiked hot chocolate and ruddy cheeks. adventure walks to find citadel hill. a valid excuse to fry the entire package of bacon (it’s gotta last all day). i might not shower. i might just dive into my snow suit (sadly no longer a one-piece wonder), throw back a cup of coffee and snow angel the shit out of this day.
lone bean. 
