The Poland Spring guy was back this morning; he came to collect six empty bottles and my cooler service. When I went to unplug the cooler from the outlet, I had to move my white antique dresser. I would have asked The Suitor to do it, but he’s afraid of outlets. In the crack of space I created, amid the dust chunks, I discovered a dusty DVD. Could it be? It was my long lost Anne of Green Gables. “God, does this mean we have to actually watch it?”
“Don’t be dim; it’s a snow day.”
Today is a snow day, but I’m spending it alone because no one I know can play with me. Besides, I don’t like to play in the snow anyway. I never understood the point of making a snowball. It hurts and stings my hands, even if they are in thermal gloves. I play like a girl in the snow. I’ll make a snow angel and photograph children on sleds, but for me, the best part about being in the snow is getting out of it. When I was young, after a few hours of sledding on the local golf course, I’d come home to blender-made hot chocolate. My mother set the blender to the “whip” setting, and when it became frothy and filled with air, she’d pour it into bowls for us. All hot chocolate should be had in a café au lait bowl. Or a tartan thermos, but then it should be spiked with Maker’s Mark.
[Tweet “The best part about being in the snow is getting out of it.”]After some wine, the rolling up of wet jeans, lamp-lit white streets, the crunch of it, I can fall in love on a snow day. Friendships form over board games in cozy dive bars as the fat feathers of snow fall. It’s easy to fall in love when it’s snowing; it’s a dramatic scene that lends itself to warmth and memory. To mittens. To him brushing that stray curl off your face.
People buy salt for their stoops and food for a month. They caramelize onions in rendered bacon fat and eat three-egg omelettes. If they have leftover herbs, they’ll add them. Basil would be good. It’s also a good diner day. A warm buttered roll. The counter. I wouldn’t mind, even, looking at those halved melons filled with jello and covered in plastic wrap. It’s a good egg day.
I think I’ll stay inside and read today. I was hoping to pick up Mary Gaitskill’s new novel, Veronica. I might make the trek to Borders, but then it will feel less like a snow day.
When I awoke this morning, I thought of heading out to photograph central park before there were too many footprints. But, it’s too cold, despite how many layers I pack on. And I guess it would be worth it if I had the proper snow clothes, but wet jeans by yourself isn’t a good time. It’s just cold. So I’ll visit The North Face for pants and mittens. No I won’t. Instead I’ll go to Borders and tackle my to-do list, but I’ll do it with cocoa in hand… and maybe a camera.
