Snow won’t slow

by Eve Stenson

Some people, if they lived on the 13th floor of Walsh (as I do), would have taken the near inability to see Keating Tower through the whirling snow as an indication that Monday was a good day to stay indoors. I, on the other hand, immediately decided it was the perfect morning to catch up on errands.

By 10 a.m., I’d already mailed a letter, gone out to get groceries and stopped to eat at Tony and Tina’s on my way home. (I’m not sure which surprised the man behind the counter more: that he had a customer at 9:30 a.m. when there was already a foot of snow outside, or that she apparently wanted burek for breakfast.) I returned to my room with the sort of satisfaction comes from having braved what was "one of the worst snow storms in decades," according to The New York Times.

"The only way this could be better," I thought, "is if I were in Manhattan today . . ." There was a moment’s pause before my mind continued, "I have access to a subway; I could be in Manhattan today . . ." So I went.

I gaped at impassable streets, took pictures of buried taxi cabs, and – lacking a sled – rode down a hill in Central Park on a large piece of boxboard. I would have gone ice skating, too, but the rink was closed so it could be plowed. Apparently, New York City didn’t know what to do with all the snow they cleared from the streets (unlike the City of Cleveland Heights, which seems to dump it all onto the apron of my parents’ driveway), so there were 15-foot piles every few blocks on Sixth Avenue. I climbed a few, and did a handstand on top of one.

I wasn’t by far the only person out there enjoying myself. Always the joy of children and puppies (though I did notice one dog so small that the owner was carrying it, lest it be lost in a drift), snowflakes seem to excite even adults when there are enough of them.

No doubt novelty is a factor. My sources in Maine tell me that the 18 inches they received from the same storm merited only a half-day off classes. I suppose that seeing "Blizzard" as the day’s forecast on weather.com wouldn’t evoke quite the same excitement from me if it were a more regular occurrence.

Circumstance might also play a role. After all, it was the first sentence of the announcement on 1-800-280-SNOW ("Classes, administrative office attendants, and all scheduled functions are cancelled for Tuesday, February 18, at all three campuses.") that concerned me. The second ("Emergency personnel involved with snow removal should report to work.") made me laugh out loud, because I found it amusing they should state something so obvious. Perhaps I would have found it less entertaining if the latter were addressed to me?

Yet, I do have custody of a car that had to be extricated from the drift beneath which it was buried, but considered the dazzle of a blizzard to be worth the extra effort. And when I am home in Ohio and share the task of driveway-clearing, I still welcome snow. Besides, even if I didn’t welcome it, it would come nevertheless – so I might as well take pleasure from the breathtaking beauty it affords.

I have a friend whom I used to accuse of being pessimistic. One time last year, he denied the charge (opting for the ever-popular "realistic"), but accused me equally vehemently of being an optimist. I tried to argue that such a title wouldn’t mean I assessed situations inaccurately – and was doing quite well, I think – until he ever so trickily looked up the definition of the word. I had to back down from my position, as well as my claim to optimism, lest I be guilty of misrepresentation.

"But then what do you call enjoying the good parts of a situation, rather than dwelling on the bad ones?" I asked in frustration.

He thought for a moment, then smiled. "I call that being happy," he said.

It would seem I was but one among many who chose to be happy in the snow, rather than irked by it. I’ve heard a lot of people comment that New Yorkers were "nicer" on Monday – interacting more pleasantly and more patiently, graciously offering assistance. I noticed an elderly woman being helped over the three foot drift between the bus stop and the bus.

Perhaps that’s one of the most pleasant side effects of delight – the urge to share it.

Granted, such light heartedness didn’t keep my fingers warm or my feet dry. Indeed, after I paused mid-afternoon to wring out my socks – both layers – I decided it might be advisable to acquire less permeable footwear than two-year-old sneakers. When I stopped by the nearest Payless, however, it turned out they were closed for some reason. Something about a blizzard . . .

Hopefully, I’ll have better footwear the next time. And while I won’t expect another storm like this any time soon (I’m not an optimist, remember), if such things occurred a little more often I certainly wouldn’t object. After all, blizzards are gorgeous, they seem to promote good will, and they inspire me to get around to doing my errands.

As for the accusation that frequency would demean their majesty – I’ll consider it when I cease to be delighted by the magnificent sight of Keating Tower on a clear day.

(published in The Ram, 20 February 2003)