Forget the musty trails, try frosty trails instead. And forget the meandering, brisk walking's the only way to keep warm.
It's been one of those weeks where the windchill was constantly in the -40s (on Wednesday, supposedly, Winnipeg was the coldest place in North America). I must remind my dear old mom (who frets that she didn't survive the gulag so her daughter could work outside here on the prairies) that working as a letter carrier in Winnipeg isn't like being in Siberia. I get regular meals (and no, it's not cabbage soup twice a day), dress in layers (Gortex is amazing), and have a warm barrack (I mean, home) to return to. My boss doesn't stand around with a gun or a mean dog, 'supervising' my progress. Well, not yet.
My mom (still in the hospital) told me a story yesterday of how a fellow gulag inmate had tried to warm herself near some coals and her quilted jacket caught fire. She ran into the snow and rolled around to quench the flames. My mom noticed some lights out in the field and went out to see what was happening. She walked the woman back to the barracks. By then the woman was frozen solid. They put her into a shower and she recovered. But my mom says the woman "went crazy" and was never herself again.
Stay warm, eh!
that is quite the story. Perhaps it will find its way into a book of yours someday... Gabe--stay warm.
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