Graham Freeman's chronicles of emigration

I've determined that Toronto runs on two seasons. Hockey, and not-hockey. There's a certain relaxedness about TO while there's no puck action, a feeling not really palpable while the Leafs are playing. I doubt that it's because the weather is warm and sunny during the summer, because die-hard Leafs fans (and there are a lot of them in these parts) don't stop talking about the game just because it's not winter. The chat usually starts with a "remember when ..." and often tails off with a "wouldn't it be great if ...". Phrases unique to summer, and ones that set you at ease (as long as you're a hockey nut, that is).

Discussions while the season is in full swing are tense and taut, and full of venom for opposing teams (usually Ottawa and Montreal), and have nothing to do with the snow outside. 99% of all southern Ontario ulcers happen between October and May. Of this I am certain.

There's also a down side to summer. Along with the wildlife that bounces around the landscape, comes the inherent heartache that is roadkill. I've already squished two animals this week. OK, so one was a frog, but the other was a rabbit, and I'm not happy about it. I didn't sleep too well last night, even though I doubt very much that I could have avoided the critter. The wheel went right over it, so at least it was a fast end, and not a long drawn out death. Yeah, I'm a sop, but it still makes me sad.