I’m steadfastly ignoring the cabin fever that’s creeping, crawling just barely under my skin. Instead, I’ll focus on the absolutely beautiful quiet the past two days have given us. It snowed all day yesterday. Big, plopping, wet snowflakes fell and buried everything. I haven’t seen so much snow since 1993, when I got stuck with friends during spring break as we drove from Asheville to New York City. It took us two days to get to there — buoyed by the non-stop techno music the guys driving loved and a quick stop-over in DC. When the two dropped my friend and me off at Juilliard, it took me days to get those stinkin’ beats out of my head. Seeing Gregory Hines in Jelly’s Last Jam helped, though.
Blizzard ‘09. Proof.
Anyway, this snow is not as exciting, I suppose. No techno marathons. No ballerinas in the cafeteria with too-tight buns and only apples on their plates. No walking the streets of New York after cups of tea in cafes. Except now there’s a little girl sitting in my arms listening to me ramble on about these past adventures as we look out the window. She’s all who cares?? Uh, so true. It’s kinda irrelevant considering everything ahead, so, yes, this snow quiet is more intense, more exciting than anything I could have imagined, really.
This morning, our street.
So, to celebrate — I’m still doing the advent celebration, though amended way, way, way down — I spent the day holding Iver and listening to the radio as we sat under the Christmas tree lights. It was so simple. Precious, even, I’m not afraid to admit, because I felt peaceful in a way I haven’t in a while, partly due to sleep deprivation and partly due to finally relaxing that she’s here and OK. I can take a deep breath. Many deep ones. It’s been a sweet, sweet winter so far.
