Over the past two days, we lived through our first, honest-to-God, New York City snowstorm. It makes me wonder why our city's founding parents did not find it down south by about 400 miles. When everything was said and done, 26.5 inches of snow landed in Central Park over the last two days. Yet another historic moment for us.
Dateline: Saturday. The snow begins. I'm out with Rockstar, my old friend from Penfield, New York. Where we grew up, we knew snow. Being a couple of hardy guys, we hit the streets to run some errands. Sure, it was snowing, but it wasn't really accumulating. After some light shopping, we walked over to the Lower East Side to hit 'inoteca, a hot new restaurant. Rockstar knows the sous-chef, who treated us like royalty as we sat at the bar. The guy sitting next to Rockstar asked if we were celebrities because we were getting unexpected plates of food as we enjoyed our wine. Not a bad way to start off the snowstorm! I had to ditch Rockstar early on. He was off to grab a three-course dessert at an Alphabet City cafe. If I joined him for something like that without Kitty, I'd be in the doghouse!
Dateline: Sunday. Church is skipped. I can't see out the window at the apartment. I know that it is only two blocks away. The accumulation overnight was spectacular. Our one, ill-fated trip out of the house was when dinner time was fast approaching. We put on our severe weather wear from REI and head out, empty-stomached, to Chipotle. Two subways later and a long walk through the heart of downtown Brooklyn, we open the doors to Chipotle. The smell hits us... disinfectant. "We ain't open... ran outta food," she yells. "We've got a coupon for a free burrito. It expires tomorrow and we'll be out of town..." I glibly lie. "I'll give you real coupons for two free... get in here," she yells back. I'm seeing black spots from hunger and I fight off my light-headedness as I stagger to the back. "What now?" I ask Kitty. "Why home, of course!" she says. We hike back through the occasionally waist-deep snow to the subway and then after about a half hour subway ride, we head home.
Dateline: Monday. Kitty has a snow day and I depart for the office as she sits on the couch, sipping coffee and reading a book. The sidewalks are remarkably clear due to the almost fascist shoveling laws in the city. Owners of buildings can be fined if the sidewalks are not clear by 11 p.m. during snowstorms and then again at 9 a.m. the day after. (I could be wrong about this, if I were a real writer, I'd research it. It is something nearly as draconian, though, and I am grateful.) Curse the MTA! They still are running. The door to my building is about twenty feet from the entrance to the G-train. So far so good. The station is a ghost town complete with gusts of wind blowing a lonely, crumpled newspaper. The train is similarly quiet as I start the commute.
By the time I reach downtown, the sun is bright and the skies are blue-steel. Now the fun begins. I am transformed into a polar bear, leaping from iceberg to iceberg (in my crummy sneakers). There are narrow paths carved through the snow, but at intersections, I must jump over rivers of slush and melted snow that back up the drain systems.
I am currently reading Winterdance: The fine madness of running the Iditerod. I imagine myself being led by a pack of dogs, roaring down 57th street screaming "Mush, Mush! I've got a 9 a.m. with millionaire clients!" I would look back and laugh at the poor wildlife trudging through the snow in their business suits, hoping to still look vaguely respectable after their commute. Alas, I am just like them. Like the Iditerod, there is a pride in just finishing your commute on days like today.
Dateline: Tuesday. There is less snow but even more water. I did not know that ponds ecosystems could form at intersections in New York, complete with plankton, waterfowl and old men with fishing poles. And there are a lot of intersections in New York. It keeps melting through the day. Incredibly, by my commute home, life is mostly back to normal and water has evaporated to the point where you can safely navigate the streets. Where did it all go?
No comments:
Post a Comment