Snow Fair

It's so beautiful outside right now. Our cars sit under a fluffy white blanket. Gone is the sand and grime and salt and muck that enshrouds old snow in a blanket of filth. There's a tranquility out there, a silence as gossamyr-thin flakes drift down aglow in the artificial orange of a nearby street light. It's the perfect sort of night for hot cocoa by a warm fireplace. Gazing out I can almost remember what I loved about snow as a boy.

Up until high school, a big snowstorm would often mean a day off from school. I didn't think about the future consequences, that days would be added in May truncating my Summer break. I lived in the NOW. The Pre-teen Cloaked Figure relished the transformation my neighborhood experienced. I'd gleefully put on the big boots and trundle over to my friends' homes. We'd have snowball fights and make snowmen, and even play football. I didn't care about getting sick when I got hot running around and cast my winter coat aside. I didn't feel the cold then.

We didn't HAVE snow days in my high school. There was a running bitter joke that there was a dome created by prayer that kept bad weather from other parts of Long Island from affecting the town our private school was in. Even when the weather was bad there was never a problem with school buses--many students, including myself, took the train. Occasionally my parents would pick me up. I remember one day in a raging blizzard the two of them making heroic efforts to get me from school to a rehearsal for the annual NYSSMA concert I participated in. Visibility was bad, my dad's eyesight was worse, and my mother and I alternated between wiping the fogging windows and shouting “watch out!” Of course once we got to the school where the rehearsal was to be and saw no cars in the parking lot, it was apparent that it had been canceled. For the first time in years snow had given me some time off.

I didn't understand why my dad would get so stressed driving in bad weather until I was driving myself. I think college is when I started to dislike the snow. I remember driving home on the Grand Central after a basketball game in a fierce blizzard. My wipers were accumulating ice and I had to roll the window down and reach around with a scraper while moving. Fortunately it was stop-and-go as the age-old question of “Why don't we park on a parkway?” was finally answered. With painted lines wholly indistinguishable from snow and ice, three lanes begat four lanes which begat seven. A 30-minute commute under ideal conditions took two-and-a-half hours. I hated snow. HATED it.

I only had one good experience with snow in college, one time where instead of impeding my progress or keeping me from someplace I wanted to be, it enhanced my experience. Art majors, especially in New York, would frequently visit museums as one of the better class requirements. After one such trip to The Cloisters, several of my friends and I were heading through the surrounding park, making our way down a steep hill. One of my friends noticed a groove between some trees in a wooded section, and promptly slid down it as we followed one by one. It was like being a kid again, joy and immortality reclaimed. When the friend in the lead suddenly dropped out of sight and my friend Rey shouted “Joe's DEAD!”, immortality flew out the window as self-preservation and panic kicked in.

Obviously my “one good experience with snow in college” wasn't the death of my friend Joe, since that would have sucked. There was a pretty steep drop but not as bad as it looked from our point of view, and we all managed to slow our descent by grabbing a tree branch that was jutting out. Nearby, people of all ages were playing in the snow on a hill and we noticed something, a makeshift sled made from an overturned car hood and a thick rope. The next thing I knew I was clinging for dear life to the edge of a car hood with five other guys, soaring toward Harlem at speeds I'd only imagined after the first time I saw Empire.

After that snow became my enemy again. I used to shirk shoveling but after my dad developed clogged arteries it became apparent that I couldn't leave that task to an old man with a heart condition and an old woman with asthma. At first I tried to take the shovel from him but soon found it impossible to work for him. My dad understood something that I, perhaps because of my generation, never would. Being alive meant that he could do the work; to sit and do nothing was the equivalent of death, waiting for it at the very least. So I learned to work WITH him instead, as well as faster to minimize his effort. He'll be 75 next week and still won't slow down. Monday we had snow that was likely going to melt by the afternoon, and in fact did melt. Nobody had to be anywhere that day since it was a holiday and as I poured a bowl of cereal and popped in Shaun of the Dead at 10AM I heard the familiar scrape of a shovel outside. We worked well together and got a lot done, but he asked me to leave the entrance to the driveway in case the city plow closed us in again making another pass at the street. He went inside but I stayed out to make sure nothing was left for him to do, and I started to open up the driveway. My mom opened the window to say that his friend's son had called and was coming with a plow and I said I'd be right in as soon as I finished the section I was on. A minute later my dad called out the same thing and, because I have a hard time controlling my temper and am prone to irrational outbursts, unwisely called back, “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!” He snarled back that it was still his house and his business and that he wasn't dead yet, and slammed the door. So much for being tactful and not upsetting him.

It's so beautiful outside right now. Gazing out I can almost remember what I loved about snow as a boy. I left work early tonight, around 5:30, skipping the gym when I saw what was happening outside. My drive home wasn't as bad as I expected, though my window perpetually fogged up. I know the storm will finish tonight and I'll have to go to work tomorrow on time. I also know that my dad will be out there at 6:30 cleaning off my car and shoveling the driveway. I really hate to get up early. I could go to bed earlier, but I hate that too, the sense that I'll miss something exciting. That feeling is a holdover from childhood and once I was allowed to stay up later, I discovered I wasn't missing anything. Nevertheless, it's still there. I probably could slip out quietly after midnight, after my mom's gone to bed as well, and shovel. I've done that before and usually by morning the continuing snowfall has erased all evidence. I think this storm will continue well into the night, so I don't know if it will do any good to go out there now. Seems like my only option is to get up tomorrow morning and help my dad. For now I'll just stay on my computer and enjoy the latest Blog Party entries from Citizen Willow and FawnDoo's Cavalcade of Whimsy.

I can't wait for Winter to be over. In the Summer when I'm complaining about mowing the lawn and looking forward to the Winter, I'd appreciate it if someone would remind me of this post.