Brass Monkey Weather

Brass Monkey Weather

If nothing else, this Reunion thought process is igniting my motivation to firm up, lose pounds and rid my chin of a few fat cells.

This morning, as I hit the snow covered wind swept streets for my ‘walk-run’, I had to ask myself –why now? I mean, I haven’t run in a few years since my knees began to ache. Perhaps when I stopped, I simply was bored and needed an excuse-‘whatever’.

So every second day, since last Saturday, I have been fast walking 4-6 telephone polls per street and soft running two, to an approximate total length of maybe 3-4 kilometers.

The thing about running and walking at ‘march-pace’, the body goes into a pleasant rhythm which causes one’s consciousness to focus upon various topics of concern. But after a certain point – perhaps 15 minutes into the pace, one’s consciousness goes time travelling.

The thudding sound of my boots on the hard snow street seems muted by the cold and I am aware of the February fragrance of frozen steel, but as my pace sets in, the warmth permeates my gloves and boots and gives rise to a memory of a similar morning- walking-walking-walking to school with Jimmy.

"This is brass monkey weather –there won’t be school today, man – there can’t be.” Jimmy’s breath hung suspended on the air. I looked out under the ridge of my frosted touque and spied the tears forming on his long eye lashes- becoming frozen and stuck.

“Maybe your right,” I muffled moist through my scarf. I could taste the wool that had become the traditional flavour of February since childhood.

A few weeks before, we had a massive amount of snow. In fact, the night it had come down, there was a knock on the door. There under the porch light, stood two Charlie Brown ragamuffins peering out of layers of winter outer clothing. Dave and Steve Poirier dressed as if prepared to climb a mountain.
“Come on out McConnell! - They’ve plowed the snow in Towers’ parking lot - the biggest snow mountains we’ve ever seen! Get your Mom’s old leather ski-boots on, bundle up and let’s go snow diving beneath the drifts!”

I’ll never forget that night.

But this day, with Jimmy was really extreme -freeze. Our steps squeaked and crunched on the brittle packed snow. If we even opened our mouths to speak, it felt like our breath was ripped out by the hand of a cruel winter .

We trooped on in our boots, gray flannel pants, ski jackets and long tassel touques, brief case school bag handles, frozen into our mitts. I was wearing my brown rubber over-boots (“galoshes”) with the slip buckle on the side, which I would ‘never be caught dead in’, but I didn’t need to fight with my mother on this occasion. It was brass monkey weather for certain “–definite witches’ tit.” said Jimmy, whose eyes could no longer be seen behind the fog of his large round glasses. The curls that emerged from beneath his hat had long since frosted.

The school was looming in the distance from our vantage point on Saint Francis Street as we were about to turn onto Maple.

It was ‘now or never’ time.
“So – ya figure there’s school today?” he ventured.
“I doubt it – I mean- maybe the busses couldn’t start” I posited.
“Let’s just go to my house – and make some corn fritters!” He said, “Besides, we can always go back to the school and slip in at lunch time.”
“Hmmm- Fair! This sounded good – fritters it is!” said I.
It was now official.
“You know how to make those things?” I asked.
“Just you wait.” He said, wiping new peering holes into the frost on his glasses. There was that Jimmy grin, suggesting all was possible in the magic of our existence.
But somehow that did not quite sound like a “yes” to me.

So instead of turning left at Maple past the small shopping centre, we turned right- heading up into the Heights. We continued on to the end of Maple and then over the tracks and up Robert Street (west).

We made our way down past St.Andrew’s United Church, Julius Richardson School and PieXII (referred to as Peedouze), and then along Salaberry North, past the train bridge and approached the ‘cement’ bridge that connected Chateauguay to the Woodlands/ Ville de Lery area.

As we passed under the ‘cement bridge’, we couldn’t help but notice the enticing hillside down from the top.



“Look at all that untouched perfect snow!”
It didn’t take any discussion. We bombed up there and made good use of our brief cases as mini toboggans. What speed! –what fun!

After a half hour of this though, our clothes were soaked and it was getting colder. So we kept on along Salaberry North to Jack Street where Jimmy lived.

Good to his word and Kitchen-wise beyond his young years, Jimmy took charge and into a sizzling vat of oil, he showed me how to drop dollops of batter mixed with corn nibblets.

What a feast, with Maple syrup– the aroma- hot coffee and corn fritters after a morning of fun in a February Quebec winter.

And no- we didn’t make it to school that day and I don’t remember being caught. Perhaps school was let out early due to cold? It had happened before and still does today. I know – my wife is a teacher. And teachers like those days too.

All of this, from a little exercise out in the cold this morning.
There was indeed a new found magic and purity of ‘fun’ in our youth during those high-school years in old Chateauguay- ‘there’s no place like home’.