Bob explains the weather

My uncle Bob and I are standing on the roof of his ranchhouse on a cold Novermber afternoon. Up here we can see in all directions, there is chill in the air. To the west we look. "In the morning, you come up here and the sun his them so's they are all pink while the rest of the ground is still dark," he explains. We look east, "and from there, that land is flat as a baby's ass all the way to Ontario." We look north, to see the city of Calgary which unfolds over the land. Here you can see the approach of civilization, the thrust of the earth's custs collide into sharp mountain, and the flatlands of big open sky. It's like we are on the cusp of many different worlds here. To see the flat land suddenly rupture into daggar-like peaks is something you do not experience in cities. Or the open, golden fallow fields of grass that suddenly give way to a city. It is why the weather changes so dramatically here. Standing on the roof my uncle explains:

"If the wind come from the north, you know it's gonna be cold as hell and really dry. If the winds are from the east, which happens in the spring, you get cold and wet which means a lot of snow. From the south, you get the warm winds coming up from the desert, and from the west you'll get the Chinooks blowing down from the mountains - and then you never know what might happen. So one day you are shoveling off two feet of snow in minus twenty winds and in the afternoon you're having a beer in your shorts on the back deck."

I feel lucky to be privvy to this kind of knowledge that only someone who lives here can impart.And we just stand there for a while on the roof, the wind swirling.

The Parable of the Socks

There it is: a pile of socks.

Every week, or when I find the time to do laundry, I am always left with a missahpen, askew pile of black socks. I prefer sports socks, medium thick with elastics that hug the calfs. Not too thin to be worn with a suit, not too thick to be worn during minus ten degree weather. This means I have at least 20 pairs of equal size and texture. Like most people, I try to pair my socks with their like kind: Some have big ribs, others thin. Some have a Kodiak logo, other a Fila logo. I always buy them in big cheap bulks. So if I lose one, I don't care. When I mop my foors (every few months) I will come upon a sock, covered in dust and add it to the wash pile. I pay no matter. It's just a sock, after all. Who cares right?

Recently, I decided to go upscale. I have a job, I have a few extra bucks lying around (no, not millions), so I thought "I want some good socks." I mean, I wear socks every day. I walk in them everywhere. I must log thousands of kilometeres on every sock. And lately my stash of socks are looking rather downtrodden. So I went to The Bay on rainy day. I walked the aisles. I searched. And it dawned on me that I, hey, I have money, I have some time; hell, I will buy some expensive socks! I went Calvin Cline. Yes, I did. I paid $20 real dollars for three pairs. I felt bad. But then I just said, hey, I need them.

But a curious thing happened. Something I never thought would happen.

I wore each sock, each sucessive day for three days. And when I tossed them into the hamper and then into the washer a few days later. I was struck with: oh my god, have I lost one of the socks?! One sock was missing! OH MY GOD. A MISSING SOCK! I mean, this was serious stuff. I paid a lot of money for that sock....

... and I realized it was the first time that I ever, in my 30 years of life, ever fretted over a sock.

I am loathe to admit it but it's true.

Worst of all, only two weeks into wearing my socks, one already had a hole. I already threw out out the reciept so I was stuck with an expensive, yet useless sock. And two additional pairs that I fretted over. The socks owned me. The socks caused me concern. The socks caused me stress.

I learned that the more you value the material things in your posession, the more they own you.