Snow Days

Thoughts on the recent blizzard here in the Northeast:

It’s interesting how the city is transformed into something that feels like a small town by a major snowstorm. People who would never speak to each other under ordinary circumstances feel perfectly at ease exchanging complaints about the weather and other (un)pleasantries. As I was trudging up one street the other day, stepping into other people’s deep footprints and navigating narrow channels through the snow, an Asian (Indian? Pakistani?) man with a shovel in his hand smiled at me and said, “Mother Nature’s fury!” “Yeah!” I said. I couldn’t think of anything witty to say in response, but I appreciated the moment of connection . . . . I often wonder how immigrants from warmer climes—the sub-continent or Puerto Rico or Central America—can stand the winter weather here. They must feel like they’ve moved to the polar ice cap.

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The city decided it had to clear the inundated street outside, block by block, using bulldozer scoops and dump trucks. Well and good, but what to do about all the parked cars on the street (including mine) still covered with the snow that the city’s plows had piled around and on top of them? “They” decided to tow the cars out of the way while the scoops did their work, then return them to their previous parking spaces. According to the local newspaper, they photographed the cars first to ensure that they were returned to the proper places. If so, they didn’t pay much attention to their Polaroids. My car was left in a bus stop up the street. The kicker: I got a $29 ticket for parking there.

“Silver-white winters that melt into spring, these are a few of my favorite things.” Not.