Do They All Need A Title?

Coffee.

After a restless night, brought on by flawed communications, communications built on something as frail as the breath of a butterfly, coffee was needed.

Coat on, sweater on the terrier, my hat in place…who ever thought I’d put a sweater on a dog much less a hat on myself… we schlepped down the stairs and onto what passes for the day after a snow in New York.

Snow in New York is different than the snow I’m used to. I’ve only had one other real snow ‘storm’ here….it was the same this time. New York City snow isn’t the soft flakes I’m used to, it’s a hard brittle snow, driven by a harsh wind, slapping you in the face, a look at me wind, a pay attention snow, to put it bluntly; miserable. I’m glad now for my not pay attention to the length of it at the time I was knitting seven foot long scarf I am wearing. It covers my face up to my eyes and still lets me breathe. At one time, the wind was strong enough when we left work to actually push me backwards…but, a mild temperature, well, mild from where I’m from when it comes to snow. Without the wind, it would be a pleasant walk. Because of the low temperature, though, we walk though slush, not a crisp snow. It drags you down. There is no sound under your feet that gives you that clean feeling snow should give you. It is more a sad sound, one of grey and slog. The only thing so far I’ve not liked here. The only thing so far I find I miss from before. Real, lovely, power snow.

I discovered another thing when you walk in the streets of Manhattan, clear streets or snow filled ones…especially in some areas, such as the one I work in…the little white walking guy doesn’t insure your safety. Whereas in Brooklyn, with the exception of the guy in the gold SUV who tried to kill us, people honour the lights and the little white walking it’s okay, come on, you have the right of way to walk guy…there, they figure you are wealthy enough to live there, you must have decent health insurance, so, they’ll run you over as soon as look at you.

I’ve also discovered my glare will still stop a car in its tracks. woot.

When I arrived home, my roommate offered to draw me a hot bath, his concern over my walk to the train and my walk homewards in the snow apparent. Bless him for that. I advised him I was hot, stripped off the coat, scarf, hat changed to a teeshirt and promptly opened my window.

I sleep what little sleep I have with my window partially opened, the sound of hard snow hitting the glass the last thing I hear.

We go outside, the terrier curbs and I go for my blessed coffee…Dunkin’ Donuts, avoiding the Evil Empire that is closer.

Across the street, after leaping over a river of slush the size of the Bogue Chitto, there is a woman standing next to a fence enclosed tree, watching her child play in the snow. It is their version of a backyard here in the city, a little place for her child to build a small snowman in a small area and be safe.

She stands there, smiling down, while the bundled girl packs snow into a bucket, hands it to her mother who then upends it on the sidewalk, making a pattern of snow piles. An icicle is placed as a candle on each.

Her name is Elaine, her daughter is Madeline. They have the same large, amazingly beautiful eyes and smiles. She’s a native New Yorker, and loves it here. She knew everyone who walked by, and everyone who came in or out of the building behind us. She said she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the world; New York had all she needed. They traveled, of course, but, the lights of New York were her home.

She asked what part of Manhattan I’d been born in, if I’d just moved to this area, because I didn’t have an accent from the UES. I told her I wasn’t a native, I’d only been here since the first of the month…I was from New Orleans, via Denver and Utah….she laughed. She said she’d never have believed it if I hadn’t told her, I had a ‘New York way about me’.

I passed as a New Yorker. FMD

We’ve made a date to meet again tomorrow, same time, and same tree.

You meet the best people on the street sometimes.

Coffee is purchased, the terrier gets a sinker and I read the Times while the cowboy boots are re-heeled, and then we sludge back though the slush home where the terrier is bathed and is once again a glowing power snow white and not a dim slush grey, and I still fret over tattered words.

As Scarlet said though, tomorrow is another day. I’ve my own room to tidy, a new acquaintance made, the Cloisters to explore and The Burning Bush to see along with my hat wearing mates to meet up with afterwards…life goes on, words are sorted out, and snow melts.

It is what it is.