Her face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale.

It's a new day. Yes, yes it is. I've come to notice that the snow is prime for sculpting. I'd like to take advantage of this. Snow-day anyone?

Last night was wonderful. But now I've got pakoras on the brain. Oh how I love those little deep fried shells, enveloping cabbage and onion and spinach and cauliflower within. It's the perfect concrete vision of what love really is; flavorful, delicate, rich and fattening.

There are children in the field of my old school. Remember way back when, the bell would ring and your first instinct would be to scream. And for the first couple years, you ran back to the school, ran back to your desk and your teacher and your moldy classroom. But after about grade four it started to click that if you ran back to the school, you'd might as well have a death wish. That vile brick building holds protractors, ball point pens and carpets that were the cause of a million skinned knees.

But lets face it, I was one of the kids who kept running back to the school after grade four.

As of recent, I'm being taught to ski. Now I figure this shouldn't be a daunting task. After all, the Norse are supposed to have, like, snow in their blood. On the other hand, I could easily be that one Norwegian that defys nature. For all we know, I could bail in the snow with the grace of a Yak. What've you gotten yourself into, Jackson? Keep EMS on speed-dial. Tell my cats I love them.

"You live with dignity. You don't die with it."

It just occurred to me that all those kids in the field of my old school have more opportunities than they'll ever know. One of those little devils in snow pants and neck warmers could be the next Prime Minister. And the little gremlin next to him could revolutionize some mode of transportation that doesn't even exist yet.

It's not a comforting thought that the fate of our world rests in hands the size of safety scissors. Hands that hoard the jubjubs. Hands that depend on other hands to cross the street. No one knows where any of these hands have been! Too many hands.

I wonder if a person can have too many dreams. I want to open a dessert restaurant catering to Celiacs, lactose-intolerants, vegans and those weirdos who can eat anything. I want to write novels and plays and perhaps an acceptance speech for a Canadian book award. I want to fly an F-18, a space shuttle and drive a 1976 Gran Torino. I want to preform brain surgery and find a treatment for Celiac disease. I want to live in Paris, Boston, Jerusalem, San Francisco, Stockholm and Nice. I want to buy my dad a cabin in Ontario and build a trebuchet. I want to find love.

Is this even going to work?

If only you could see what I see.