Contrasts - Dreams
of Saskatchewan
It was a nice dream, a pot pourri of a
dozen summers past. The beach at Candle Lake, the sand conforming to
my back - cool and damp, was a contrast to the noon sun beating down
on my reclining body. It must have been a hundred degrees in the shade, but
the heat from the sun was oh so soothing. Any minute now the next
puff of warm, dry air would caress my face.
Everything was as it should be. The
clean, light fragrance of the lake and the pine trees somehow shouldering
their way past the smell of the old canvas tent, the corner of which
served as my pillow. And the sounds - the swish, swish, swish of the
waves somehow harmonising with the buzzing of the saw flies. The
serenity was punctuated only by the occasional cry of birds soaring
far above.
Barry and Richard were there too; so
were some other friends whom I couldn't make out through the dream webs.
We all just lay there in the soothing sun. It had been a hell of a
party and this was just the way to spend a Saturday morning-after. Isn't it
funny how the sun revitalises while seeming to drain the energy right
out ones body?
As I lay there in total peace, the
incongruous ring of a distant telephone somehow seemed to intrude into
the scene. I listened intently, wondering where it was coming from.
Then... pop! The dream was gone. I struggled to file it away in my
conscious memory, as I reached for the telephone.
"Hello, Maurice; you up yet?"
It was Bill.
"Umm", I replied.
"Well, don't forget
to pick me up on your way over to Bob's. And you better go out and
start the car; it's colder'n a witch's tit out there." Bill
always said things like that.
I slid back under the covers and tried
to retrieve the dream. Maybe if I could get my body into precisely the same
position I had been in before I awoke...but it was gone. The drone
of the furnace replaced the sound of the beach and the steady current
of warm air coming down from the ceiling vent replaced the warm breezes from
the summer sun. Then, with a click, the furnace shut off and ever so
gradually the early morning sounds from outside began to fill my
head.
First there was the sound of a lone
car slowly passing the house. I could hear the snow crunching under
its tires as only it can on a really cold day. Then, when the
whoo-whoo-toot-whoooooooooo of a train seemed to come from
just down the block, I knew Bill had been right about the temperature.
The only time I could hear that train, which was clear across town, was when the air outside was
dead calm and at least forty below.
The view out the living room window
was ethereal. It was so calm that ice crystals hung in the air, creating a
fog through which the early morning sun struggled to penetrate. I looked at the
thermometer outside the living room window, fifty two below.
Better start the car.
I slipped on my boots and opened the
door. Moving through the absolute stillness, caused the ice crystals
hanging in the air to eddy about me. New ice crystals
rose from the exposed skin of my hands like steam. It's amazing how
one can go outdoors on a morning like this without
a parka and not feel the cold...at least for a short while.
Getting into the car was a different
story. The metal handle seared my hand with cold. Usually
resilient, the upholstery was frozen stiff. As I settled in, nothing
budged; it was as if the car were carved from a block of ice. The
cold of the seat back penetrated my shirt seemingly burning my skin.
I turned the key.
Click, arruungh, click,
click, click...nothing. “Arruungh” is the worst sound a car can make on
a cold morning; it should be in the dictionary. I looked over at the
extension cord laying on the ground and issued a silent curse on
every prank-playing kid in the world. In northern Saskatchewan winters, no
block heater means no starting. Period. I plugged it in and dashed
for the house, the cold now penetrating my body.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the
air. As the warmth of the house began to melt away the layer of cold
that enveloped my body my ear lobes began to sting. Damn! In only
five minutes outside and I had a touch of frost bite. I made a
mental note to wear my toque next time.
The car would start in an hour or two,
providing I jumpered the battery with the one we kept on a charger in the
basement for just such eventualities. Meanwhile, I sat with my
coffee and a cinnamon bun thoroughly enjoying a transformed view out the living room window.
The sun had won its battle to
burn its way through the fog. The trees and bushes had become
delicate sculptures of hoar frost. Each branch glistened in the now
bright sun. The usually dreary look of winter was gone, in its place
a scene worthy of the finest Disney animation.
My car didn't exactly spring to life,
but it did start. Driving down the road, everything bumped and
shuddered the first few blocks, until the square corners of the
frozen tires melted away. Bill, Bob and I had a great day ice
fishing, Bill claiming that he was the most successful as he, "caught
ten pound of ice 'n a cold."...another Bill-ism.
As I lay in bed later that night, I
recalled the beauty of the day, in spite of the cold. Then, from
some dark recess, I remembered the dream of the night before and
tried without success to conjure up the image. But, before long, I was boating on
Emma Lake on a fine fall day admiring the wonderful colours of the
leaves, ten hues of red and a hundred variations between orange and
yellow. The outboard hummed behind me and the vibrations mounted my
arm as the boat sliced its way through a mirror-smooth lake. Now
this was a dream to remember. |