Mr. M, Charlie, & I woke up this Friday morning to thick, fluffy snow swirling round outside our bedroom window.
Mr. M, with his sizeable commute and morning errands, was a bit annoyed. Charlie Mae- upon setting one paw in an icy puddle on our stoop and immediately putting her gears in reverse- was horrified (and obviously had no idea of our plans to go snow-hiking in Massachusetts this weekend). I was really, really excited. Perhaps obnoxiously so, if you asked the dog.
But we hadn’t had a real live snow day since
Day#10,892. When we first moved to New York, we received a piece of Very Serious advice from a local friend: “The second it starts snowing, and not an instant later, you MUST get to Central Park.”
Said advice was administered with such gravity that when we woke up, and it was snowing, Mr. M & I immediately looked at each other, and understood the prophesy had been realized. It Was Time.
Although gloomy winter weather generally has me sluggish (whereby “sluggish”= having the surly temperament and carb-craving appetite of a bear headed into hibernation), I love, love, love the snow. It begs for spicy chai tea and roaring fireplaces and, like a fresh coat of paint, feels like a crisp new beginning.
Before Minnesotans pelt me with hate mail, I do understand that I’m only able to love the snow because I (a) don’t live in the Midwest where it’s negative-absurd degrees and in a constant state of deep freeze; (b) don’t have to scrape solid ice off my windshield in the wee hours of the morning in order to drive to work (thank you, subways); and (c) never have to shovel multiple feet of snow from my non-existent driveway.
Very occasionally, living a bit removed from nature has its benefits, and that’s when you’re able to live a bit removed from nature.
Snow is just so darn magical and makes me want to sit in front of a bay window, all wrapped up in a comforter with my favorite book and a mug of chocolatey cocoa. Not to get too specific.
While Mr. M & I slipped down the icy pathways of Central Park- and I tried to catch chunks of snow on my tongue (Survey Says: Not a Good Look)- I suddenly realized that New York City had gone quiet.
Muffled in a blanket of white, the world speaks in hushed, clouded breath. Even taxi cabs take a break from honking to woosh silently through a slalom course of traffic. The city of Manhattan was frozen in thick icy stillness.
And I suddenly understood the urgency in our friend’s recommendation. As quickly as the snow melted, Manhattan thawed.
The spell had been lifted.
Details of the Day:
He of Infinite Wisdom is correct- get thee to Central Park as soon as the snowflakes start to fall. And bring a sled! It doesn’t have to be a real sled (most Manhattan apartments don’t have extra space for sled storage)- clever opportunists will always be renting sleds for an exorbitant fee, but you’re craftier than that… plastic cafeteria trays, flattened cardboard boxes, and metal trashcan lids will all get you from top o’ the hill to bottom just fine.