As I searched for the tank water heater for the ponies, I couldn't help but appreciate that I didn't have need of it until December. It could be much worse. I could be back in Winnipeg and dealing with winter horsekeeping for far longer. Or in Russia, only much later in the year. While I enjoyed the White Nights in St. Petersburg, somehow I don't envision that the opposite (24 hour darkness) would be particularly fun.
Speaking of Winnipeg, the last time I endured the mid-winter mind-numbing cold of Canada was in 2003. I lived in mild Alabama at the time. One of my best friends from my brief stint at the University of Manitoba invited me to her February wedding. I believe she suffered from insanity. Just kidding, Jackie... Maybe... If I lived in the Great White North, you can bet I would be getting married in the summertime (provided I was actually moved to marry some unfortunate soul).
So there I was, carrying a coat and wearing heavy gear into the Atlanta airport having worn shorts just the day before. The Spaniards (sorry, Jaume, I mean Catalonians) dropped me off, promising that someone would pick me up when I returned.
My brief flight took me to Minneapolis where my oldest sister lived. I planned to visit her a few days and then borrow her truck to drive to Manitoba.
In the two years I resided in Alabama, it snowed once. Three inches (maybe) that melted on contact with the road. Heavy wet snow. Everything was closed, of course. I found it hilarious.
Alabama must have spoiled me.
As the plane circled to land in the twin cities, the unwelcome sight of foot deep snow met my eyes. No grass visible anywhere. Instead of long-needled pines and gentle red soil, I saw stark, black, leafless trunks with raw branches shivering in the wind. Grey sludge edged the cleared roads and ice glittered ominously over pale sidewalks.
Grace, my sister, lived in Minneapolis while she attended the University of Minnesota for her doctorate program. Interestingly, one of the professors on her committee knew me from Purdue University, my undergraduate alma mater. I had talked to him on numerous occasions after a class he taught during his short tenure at Purdue. I didn't see him during my visit, but Grace had told him I would be there and he sent his greetings.
Grace picked me up at the airport and drove me to her tiny subfloor apartment. My modest digs down South seemed almost palacial compared to the miniscule one bedroom efficiency apartment she resided in with her three cats. Every spare inch of space exploded with boxes of books, papers, and miscellaneous objects collected throughout her thirty plus years of existence. I would be sharing her full size bed that barely squeezed into the cramped bedroom.
One of Grace's friends met us for dinner at a small Italian joint a short walk from her place. We ordered pizza and I joked about becoming an icicle. Conversation was easy and entertaining.
I spent the next morning wandering around the University while Grace was busy at school. Campus wasn't very far from her apartment, but the path was slick and treacherous in spots where thick snow hid patches of black ice. My feet grew numb quickly, so I headed into the enclosed walkway of the Washington Avenue bridge and crossed over the mighty Mississippi River, protected from the chill wind by thick plexiglass. Staring down into the turbulent, murky water, I watched ice flows coast briskly downstream. Not far away stood the Interstate 35W bridge that would collapse years later.
While in the greater Minneapolis area, Grace and I dined with our dad's half brother and his family. I hadn't seen Uncle Earl in ages. She also showed me her office on the St. Paul campus and introduced me to some fellow grad students.
I left the following morning in Grace's little reddish-purple truck. At the time I had a 1996 blue Ranger ("The Blonde" because she was pretty but not much to her, just a sad little four banger). Grace's Ranger was a year older than mine, had a manual transmission like mine, but didn't have cruise control (mine did). I certainly missed the good ol' CC on long stretches of open interstate.
My course was direct: I-24 North and West through MN to Fargo, ND, then straight north on I-29 to Manitoba. Five years had passed since the first time I ventured over this route. Jackie lived in Steinbach, a tiny town not far from Winnipeg. I stopped in each state to pick up a highway map and take some pictures for posterity (this was before I had a digital camera). Prior to crossing into Canada, I stretched my legs and explored the Pembina State Museum. My cheeks reddened rapidly in the cool afternoon air.
Jackie had to work, so her fiance, Matt, introduced himself to me when I arrived at their modern townhome. He invited me to tag along for his "bachelor party." Having no other plans, I agreed. Matt worked as a trucker as did most of his friends. They converged at the local watering hole to drink beers and tease Matt about his upcoming nuptials. I suppose I served as the token woman, surrounded by friendly, good-natured strangers. In stark contrast to most of the snobbish people I encountered while living in Winnipeg, these men were welcoming and down to earth. I enjoyed myself immensely and fell right into ribbing Matt with the rest of them.
After the small gathering, Matt and I returned to the townhouse where Jackie and I finally reunited. It was as if the previous four years melted away and we were old pals again. She shared the photo album from her trip to China. I brought some of the pictures I had taken while in Russia. We discussed our school days and some of the people we knew "back then." Aside from Jackie, I had only kept in contact with one other person from my Manitoba days, a French Canadian named Geneviere (Jay).
The following day Jackie, her cousin Kelly (from British Columbia), and I traveled to Winnipeg to visit old haunts. The University looked the same: a hodge-podge of clashing architectural styles thrown together haphazardly. So many memories there, some best left dusty and undisturbed. Jackie picked up her wedding dress from the seamstress and excitedly displayed it to us. On the way back to Steinbach, she showed me the store where she met Matt while working as a cashier, and then she told me their story. Weary of men at the time, Jackie didn't want to date anymore. Matt continuously passed through her checkout line and asked her out until he wore her down and she agreed. "The rest, as they say, was history."
The church Matt and Jackie attended was located just across the street from their residence. However, due to heavy snows and accumulation of that precipitation, the plows piled a small mountain of snow over the median of the road. It towered several feet above our heads. We couldn't even make out the buildings opposing us. Jackie's solution was to drive several blocks down the road to a break in the drift, then around to the other side of Mount Snow.
Jackie introduced me to all the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Most of the people present were strangers, but one face I recognized instantly. Jackie's younger brother David. He and Jackie's ex-boyfriend Andrew had escorted us to the spring formal back in college. I don't know if Jackie was aware of it, but David and I had flirted while we danced together eons ago, and I remembered that keenly when I encountered him again.
Jackie's younger sister, another Cindy, knew me previously as well. We met during a trip Jackie and I took from the University dormitories to her home. The other Cindy was already married with an adorable little girl.
I watched the rehearsal half-heartedly, but primarily I wanted to check out my surroundings. The church, while not small, didn't hold a candle to the mausoleums Southern Baptists adore so much in the Bible Belt. It housed a kitchen with an adjoining gym that doubled as a reception hall. I assisted in setting up and decorating tables in the hall.
Darkness fell rapidly in the frigid February night. The rehearsal dinner commensed at a cozy restaurant across town. Jackie asked me to drive separately so that she could put Matt's wedding present in the back of Grace's truck. Matt loved carpentry, and Jackie's gift to him was a sturdy tool chest with plenty of drawers for all of his implements.
Dinner was wonderful. I felt welcome and comfortable amongst Jackie's loved one. However, her mother, a stern Menonite woman wearing a modest white bonnet and austere dress, remained aloof from the others.
I tried my best to avoid looking at David. I don't know how much he remembered about our time together, but the past came rushing vividly to the forefront of my mind whenever our eyes inadvertantly locked. He remained polite and slightly remote whenever we conversed.
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Wow, this post has grown way beyond the simply memory I originally intended to scribe! I guess I will have to continue the tale tomorrow ;-)
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