megabals

At a party tonight, the question arises: does anyone still have childhood friends? As it volleys around the circle, I can't help but smile; the faces of my three oldest friends smiling back at me in my mind. How lucky am I? Four girls, four wicked senses of humour. Going on 25-odd years. We have few, if any, hobbies in common: the jock/philosopher, the artist/hater, the peace-loving/thought provocateur, and the highland dancer/gardener. We are specifically unspecified. Terrible at keeping in touch, yet never too far to be unreachable. As much time spent apart as spent together. As Vanessa would say, "my cows." Les vachons: my girls.

In the Northern, they know us. "Hey, the bargain hunters are back! I just put some spices on special at the back; you guys wanna take a look?" We were door crashers on Black Friday, and we were the only ones. Last week, big boxes of Jaffa dates and Baker's baking chocolate went on clearance for 79 cents a piece. I don't care where you live, that is a stomping deal. Since then, it's been chopped dates in oatmeal for breakfast and rich hot chocolate with whisky and cinnamon as nightcaps. Yesterday, Toni made date squares. Dates, stewed in the orange juice we brought home after the turkey dinner. Spiced with cinnamon and smeared over a butter and oat-y crumble. We ate them hot in our living room late at night - Toni and I on the couch, Steph facing us from the lone chair. The coffee table between us was littered with mismatched cups and knitting needles; internet radio softly filling the space in our big, empty apartment. It was minus twenty outside, and it smelled like Christmas. We all overslept this morning.

Here, we three girls rock a 17 passenger bus, half empty. One person drives; the other two sit two rows back, keeping a little extra weight over the rear tyres to keep the vibrations to a dull roar. Rickety heat creates micro-climates within the empty space. The road is ice-covered save the bare patch that follows the yellow line. Stopped around km 45 of the access road back to Chis, enamoured by the sunny day, the empty highway and heavy hoar frost. My life as a Christmas card.

a hike that wasn't meant to be. a quick hitch, a long defrost and one very bumpy ride in an empty van later, we made it to the bay. the temperature must have dropped 10 degrees, and the sun had already dipped behind those magnificent purple clouds on the horizon. Is 3 o'clock the witching hour on the arctic ocean?