Conversations with my Mother: The Snow Plough

My mother makes it her life’s work to mock Vancouver’s snow ploughs. Having been here once during a winter storm she still regularly likes to regale me with the same story over and over and over again how the only snow plough she saw was so small, so tiny, so incredibly meek that she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how this poor little machine that was no bigger than a lawn mower could possibly plough an entire city.  This is an example of what I have to live with.

Tessa: Gaboodle
Rosie: Gaboidle
Tessa: My mutha
Tessa: What are you doing?
Rosie: I’m looking outside.
Tessa: What are you looking at?
Rosie: There is a machine out here that is unbelievable. It looks like a space ship.
Tessa: Really. What’s it doing?
Rosie: It’s taking in alot of snow and then somehow I don’t know the snow disappears. It’s just making the snow disappear. It’s incredible.
Tessa: Really.
Rosie: Yeah. Remember the snow plough in Vancouver? How small it was?
Tessa: No.
Rosie: Well, I heard on the NEWS tonight that they said Vancouver had the smallest, worst snow ploughs ever. That they were like lawnmowers.
Tessa: They did not.
Rosie: Yes. I heard it. Tonight. It was on the news.
Tessa: No. That came straight from your own personal newscast in your brain.
Rosie: Are you saying I’m lying?
Tessa: I’m saying that what you just said is something you said but not the news. News doesn’t work that way.
Rosie: Anyways. Those ones in Vancouver are so pathetic. And for a big city like Vancouver with the Olympics and everything. They better get some bigger ones. Soon. It’s a bit embarrassing driving around in such a small thing.
Tessa: Anyways.
Rosie: All of  Port Credit is looking at this machine right now. It’s incredible. It’s as big as the whole street.
Tessa: Really. Anyways. Are you excited about your birthday?
Rosie: Ach. My birthday. I’ve had so many. Why would I be. Who knows if I’ll even be alive by then.
Tessa: It’s only two weeks away.
Rosie: Exactly. You never know.
Tessa: My potatoes are burning. I have to go. Love you.
Rosie: Me too. Bye.


Leave a comment

Filed under Conversations with My Mother

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s