It’s cold in New York City, and I love it.
For years now, winter around here hasn’t felt like winter. More like a “Perpetual End of Autumn” that carried on till the start of April. At least one Nor’easter would blow through every year, and dump four to six inches of snow on us, but within a week it would all be gone, and the reign of light coats would return. This was such a reliable pattern that the wife and I started to wonder if the winters of our first years in the City were a thing of memory.
But starting Christmas week, the winters of the past returned; Snow fell and stayed on the ground, the temperature hung around freezing, and a feeling needing to be wrapped up on the couch was ever present.
Perhaps I am a bit romantical when it comes to winter. I did grow up in Texas, where it rarely got below forty degrees in the deepest part of winter, and just the hint of snow was enough to close down the schools and services. I think it is true that most people are drawn to the thing they are most denied, and for me that was cold weather.
For you see, my whole family was born and raised in Illinois. All, except me. I mean, I was born there, but we moved south when I was six months old, so my experience was the opposite of everyone else. My family would talk about snowball fights, building snowmen and snow-forts. There were foreign chores of shoveling out driveways and sidewalks. Keeping blankets, kitty litter, and chocolate bars in the car just in case. I remember seeing a pair of my father’s old snow boots, black rubber, that were up on a self in the garage, where they only thing they did was gather dust and become a relic of his other life.
When I moved to New York back in 2006, it briefly snowed on my first Thanksgiving here, and it was close to the most magical thing that ever happened to me. That first snowstorm the following January was a moment of excitement, but also hammered home how unprepared I was for winter. I only had a Texas winter coat, which wasn’t a winter coat. No snow boots, but I did have a huge scarf that a good friend had given to me before I moved. I soon got a peacoat from an Army/Navy store on 16th and 6th, and still own it to this day. I have gone through several different pairs of snow shoes, and I am proud to tell you that I also still have that original scarf I was given – As it is rather long and thick, I pull it out to wrap my face on exceptionally cold days.
The last time I talked to my dad, about a week ago, he was telling me of the coming winter storm headed his way in Texas. He dreaded it, and honestly, I think it annoyed him highly that it will get so very cold. “I moved down here to get away from all of that,” he told me, “I had enough cold to last me several lifetimes.” When he got the opportunity in his life, he ran to where it was hot, and took all of along with him.
