Winter Endurance Test

I like autumn, especially early October when one can take one’s time strolling through a sunlit park, gently kicking reddish-yellow fallen leaves. One can unbutton one’s coat, sit on a stump in the sun and indulge in light contemplation, summing up the interim period, thinking over new plans. Frankly, I think that the idea of spring is popular with men slightly on the emotional side and women slightly infantile, used to expecting from life gifts, which they think they always deserved.

I can just imagine them suffering through winter, wrinkling their noses at a homeless person freezing, even though warmed from inside with a dose of bad vodka, at a streetcar stop. How, after putting on comfortable fur coats, they shudder at the thought of storming an old jammed bus to take them to the Sviatoshyn Metro Station. No half-empty fixed-route taxi vans or courteous private car owners offering lifts, out of sheer charity, to be sure. Once again they raise their eyes plaintively, asking why such injustice, why no more offerings on a silver platter? They feel hurt, denied their piece of the pie. I saw it all yesterday, at a bus stop with the snowplow perhaps arousing a vague memory of the previous winter, with some sixty people huddled together, waiting. There was no room left on the sidewalk, so quite a few were trampling the dirty snow forlornly by the curb. No buses, fixed-route taxi vans, or cars in sight. Women, tightening the strings at the neck of their hoods, complained about the weather and public transport, husbands bringing no money by way of salary or otherwise, and disobedient children. They spoke in loud voices which finally left them on a small deserted island as the men prudently positioned themselves as far away as possible, exchanging knowing glances. There was only a boy (girl?) left, aged 5 or so, clad in a blue buttoned-up coat, merrily catching snowflakes with a mitten. His/her joy knew no bounds. A rare gift, finding joy where all the others see only hopeless despair. An amazing ability to adapt oneself to whatever objective reality, an ability found only in children.

Yesterday, it took me almost two hours to get to work, although I left home earlier than usual, expecting transport problems. And yet I stepped into the editorial office in a surprisingly bright mood. Strange, I thought later, after storming fixed-route taxis, getting down to the packed metro station which had taken 15 minutes, and struggling to stay alive in a subway car bursting at the seams, listening to expletives by way of commentaries on all sides. I should have felt irritated at best. I remembered walking to the crossing (normally a two-stop bus ride), through the harsh wind and biting snow, feet sinking in snow not yet trodden. And then I was at the crossing. A goal finally reached? A trifle, except that it is a convenient interchange. Walking and breathing was hard, but every step brought me closer to my goal. I was surmounting obstacles, fighting the elements (albeit urbanized) if you will, and I knew I would reach the target, that accursed crosswalk. There I would get to the metro station and from them the usual ride to the office where I would merge into the usual hustle and bustle, mixing with the professional and interesting crowd, people writing, editing, designing, making up the paper on computers, people giving and receiving instructions. I like the place. Funny? Naive? Perhaps. Maybe the same as catching snowflakes with a mitten.