snow

Over the past 16 years, at the first real snow fall of each season (and any other significant accumulations afterward) Bob and I have gone to Central Park and played. If it has started in the middle of a weekday, we've called one another and meet up after work. If we have woken up to snow on a day off, we've headed out early, camera in hand, bundled like Michelin Men. One year when I had the flu, we still ventured as far as the South-East corner in front of the old Plaza Hotel and caught a 20-minute horse carriage ride around a portion of the park.

Yesterday morning I woke to the wind and the lightening around 6:45 a.m. and could hardly keep myself from waking up Bob immediately. I managed to let him sleep, but even still, by 9 a.m. we were both out in the gusty whirl of heavy flakes, traipsing through the Village streets in powdery snow drifts with the few other daring souls who braved the heaviest showers of the day with shovels, or pets, or cameras of their own. By noon we were in Central Park ahead of the crowds that would pour in a few hours later.

Highlights (see photos): the still green ice that had formed on the surface of the lake in Central Park; the small dogs that couldn't make it out of the trenches trampled down by foot or tires; the multitude of birds that congregated along the paths in the Ramble; the driven Upper-East-Side parents shouting "Good Job!" as they watched their children sledding (as if by simply allowing gravity to have its way, their children somehow made one more step toward good self-esteem and their Harvard acceptance letter).

After a few hours, we had hot chocolate by the fireplace in the Boat House in Central Park. At one table sat character actor Gregory Jbara with his child. At another table, a homeless woman with her bags of belongings stared intensely out over the lake, compulsively clacking her tongue or her teeth rhythmically, incessantly. We watched several groups of snow-coated trekkers begin to sit down at the table next to her, stare curiously and then move away. Of the one family that chose to stay for a while, the two grade-school-age children couldn't take their eyes off of her. They were transfixed, like startled animals, each time the woman would start clacking again. Since our table was behind theirs, Bob and I were tempted to start clacking our tongues as well, just to mess with the kids' minds.

We came home as the snow was dying down in the afternoon and just lounged about in our bed, watching the last of the flakes falling outside the window. Around 4 p.m. we walked along Washington Square North once again, this time amidst large swarms of college students and neighbors coming out to play. We stopped in to see if we could get a "walk-in" table around the bar at Babbo and not a moment too soon, as the restaurant filled up quickly after us. We had our Valentine's Day dinner two days early, enjoyed the pasta tasting menu and some wonderful Italian wine, splurging against our diets and our budget, and then carefully toddled our way back home along the few short icy blocks above the Square, over stuffed and a little tipsy.

All in all, it was pretty much the most easy-going day we've had in over a year. No projects, no worries, no papers to gather for a mortgage company or a contractor or a lawyer. We just played, and relaxed, and hung out with each other and the City.

And my psyche knew it better than I did. All last night I had dreams of gratitude.