There are no new cars and few old cars on the road. Maybe three bells per harness jingling because it would be unseemly to have more. Two churches have big driving sheds and the teams are left there, filling the gloom with their steam. The town's marooned for a week. Even the big rail plow can't punch through.
Yeast is dropped for the bakery from a small plane.
I listen to another Toronto tradition, a broadcast from Toyland on the fifth floor of Eaton's. Another rare treat, because usually the radio's on only for Jim Hunter's 8 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. news broadcasts and for the soap operas before noon and from 3-4 p.m. Few families trim the tree earlier because no one sits in the parlor unless there's company. No games, and not much fun. And so to sleep.