Snow

We had our first snow yesterday. It started in the morning and snowed steadily through the day and into the evening. By the time it ended sometime in the middle of the night, we had a good three inches on the ground. The traffic and public transit fell apart instantly, of course, but that goes without saying around here. I thought the snow was great. First of all, it was simply beautiful. We got the complete package – after snowing all day yesterday, this morning it was sunny and clear, with bright blue skies, and the still clean, sparkling white snow looked gorgeous on tree branches, buildings, even cars. I think fresh snow is one of the most visually pleasing things nature has come up with. In addition, I hate to say it, but it made me a bit nostalgic.

You see, snow was a daily occurrence for me during large chunks of my life. Last night, when it was still coming down steadily, I had an errand to run, so I pulled my waterproof boots out of the closet and trudged out there to brush off my car, and it reminded me of my college days in Rochester, NY, when from early December well into February, and some years even earlier or later, I had to do this every morning. It was much colder, of course, so much so that the car – a late-model Honda I was borrowing from my father that even in its day was supposed to be usable in any weather – had trouble starting. When I finally got it going, I would diligently walk around, knee-deep in snow, brushing the car off in sections – first the roof, then the rear window, then the windshield, brief interruption to pry the frozen windshield wipers off the glass, then the hood and the trunk. If the snow was still coming down, as was frequently the case, I had to do it quickly, so that the front wouldn't be covered again by the time I made it to the rear. Last night it was just like that.

I was also reminded of my childhood, when my father and I would have to do that to his car, except for an even longer portion of each year. Sometimes, the car – a 1968 Fiat – would not start at all, but we would go out and brush it off anyway, because if we didn't, subsequent snowfalls would bury it completely, and after a while the snow would freeze into a miniature iceberg that the Fiat's pitiful heater would never melt even on full blast. Sometimes, we would have to borrow an icebreaker from our building's custodian to crack the ice in front of the car lest my father wouldn't be able to pull it out of its parking space. I was too young to wield the icebreaker effectively, so I just watched, thinking how resourceful my dad was. Ah, memories...