Let it Snow

The snow—I dig. The cold? Not so much.

It feels like sacrilege to me, being from Rochester and complaining about the cold. But understand that I left the cold climates in 1995 and never went back. I shed my sweaters when I moved to North Carolina and refused to re-stock.

Here’s the thing: the snow reminds me of all good stuff--sledding in Durand Eastman park, fancy hot chocolate drinks at Tivoli Restaurant downtown, tromping through the snow to get to Midtown Mall and ride the monorail, and of course, the possibility of snow days--but only when the drifts reached the top of my ten-year-old-four-foot-three-inch-stature. Which happened at least once a year.

The cold, on the other hand, reminds me of being chilled and lonely and isolated during my first year at Michigan. It was the first time I’d experienced the season in a place where I had to walk everywhere instead of driving, where we’d wait for thirty minutes for a shuttle bus to take us from North Campus to Central Campus: toes freezing, skin puckering, fingers numbing, begging for the bus to come. I was all waif-ish at the time, so I was cold in any temperature and ridiculously cold as the winter set in. I’d wear layers of long johns and tights and turtlenecks and sweaters. I stopped going out at night. There were days when I felt like I’d never get warm.

The year passed, I got happier and healthier, and after one more winter in the snow belt I headed down to Winston-Salem. I didn’t swear off cold weather for ever with the move. Indeed, I have always said that climate will never figure into a decision about where I live (unlike many this is not my reason for ruling out the possibility of living in Chicago—that decision has always been based on the fact that it is too far away from New York). But I did shed my winter skins when I moved down south. Literally and metaphorically. I got rid of all my layers. And I started reveling in December sunshine.

So now we get both: a dusting of snow (hurrah) and cold numbing toes (boo). As Long John Silver says at the end of Treasure Island: “The good and the bad… the good and the bad… “sometimes it’s hard to separate the two.

Aint that the truth?

In other news. The holidays: I bought Hanukkah gelt at Trader Joe’s last night. And tonight I will accompany Hanvnah to see JEWISH LUCK, a silent film based on a story by Sholem Aleichem. When I told C about it he assumed it was about a jewish guy who gets lucky all the time (interpret that as you will). I explained that Aleichem typically wrote about lovable schlimazels, rarely about those at the top of their game. My guess is that the title is ironic. We’ll see. Live music accompanies it, props to Hanvnah for always getting me out to do interesting things I would never think to do on my own.

Next week I’ll probably see Christmas Carol, thereby completing my multi-culti celebration of the holidays. Unless anyone has any ideas for the Winter Solstice, in which case, count me in.