At Least We’re Not in Edmonton

Canmore-Banff

 

Before I moved to Alberta 3 months ago, I thought the bottom part of a thermometer was just for show. The sub-zero scale, I reckoned, was like the speedometer on my Hyundai: measuring, at the uppermost reach, mere hypotheticals. The thing couldn’t actually go 220 km/hour – that’s just there for aesthetic purposes, to fill in the rest of dial. Plus, it looks impressive.

Now I find out, too late to turn back, that Albertans actually use the bottom end of the stick. Minus 5. Minus 10. Minus 17. Minus 28. Apparently, there’s limit to how far down the mercury will go.

And it’s only November.

When I complain loudly to the locals about this, they smile a thin smile. “Wait,” they say, “until winter hits.”

Winter? This isn’t that?

I came from Vancouver Island, where a cold day meant you put on a sweater under your wind breaker, and maybe postponed your golf game. Block heaters? Ice scrapers? Snow tires? Parkas? We’d heard of such things, but few of us had any first-hand experience with them.

November’s been my crash course. The other day I almost died walking to my car. The coldness skewered me. My toes and fingers turned numb. I pictured someone finding me hours later, my tipped-over body frozen in mid-stride, a thickening lacework of frost gathering on the blueing marble of my skin, my eyes wide with terror.

I made it, in case you were wondering.

So it’s been an education, if that’s the right word. This morning, I wrote some of these thoughts to a friend, a native Albertan. “At least,” he wrote back, “we’re not in Edmonton. It’s brutal there.”

Ah, right.

The funny thing is, he’s the third person in 2 days to say this very same thing to me. At least we’re not in Edmonton. Such, I’m learning, are the consolations of the half-frozen.

But still, it’s cold here. To be fair, I’d been warned. But – like with most things – reality has a distinct force to it that theory can never quite capture. Minus 28 in real-time is much more, shall we say, impressive than minus 28 as a mere idea.

But at least we’re not in Edmonton.

My Techno Deficiencies

Techno problems

 

Most technology baffles me.  It’s to me what Russia was to Churchill – a mystery inside an  enigma inside a riddle.

 

I think my deficiency is genetic. If certain skills are partly genetic – making a cello weep, spanking a fastball deep into outfield, dancing high on a tight rope – then, I guess, so is technical proficiency. The ability to manipulate all the secret esoteric intricacies and mysteries of iPads and smart phones must be only half acquired. The other half – the genetic part – we either have or lack.

 

I lack it. I’m deficient in techno genes.

 

We just acquired our first flat screen TV. It’s a thing of austere beauty. The only problem is neither my wife nor I can figure out how to make it work. It turns on, but the channel program is all black emptiness. We read the instructions carefully. We fiddle the buttons endlessly. We wave, like a magic wand, the control stick at the screen, trying to pull a bunny from a hat. Or just trying to get a signal.

 

Nothing happens.

 

I’d chalk it up to some glitch in the TV, except for two things: my son had it working before he left town; and yesterday.

 

Yesterday, I tried for the second time in two days to engage two friends, both far away, in a conference call. Both times I got hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of technology. Other people find these things simple, intuitive, child’s work. Me? I find them enigmatic, elusive, bedeviling. It’s like threading a needle with oven mitts.

 

But here is my consolation: the stuff of the heart requires no technical skill. To love deeply, to listen attentively, to pray earnestly, to give generously, to extend grace – all take skill, and work, and resolve, and discipline, just none of it of a technical order. 

 

My son is coming back later today. He has the genes for technology (don’t ask me how). So hopefully he’ll do his thing, and soon the Great Portal will open. He’ll explain it to me, but likely I’ll forget. And my next clash with technology, I know, is only a matter of time.

 

But I’m thankful that, though sometimes it takes technology to talk with a friend, it takes none to be one. And we all got the genes for that.