RECENTLY . . .
By Valarie Schwartz
A covering of snow like we saw this past week has transporting properties. Snow days of my childhood in Dallas were generally magical, and as rare as they were here during the mid-20th century. My first snow memory starts with the light in the house before I’d gotten out of bed. Light reflected from the snow on the ground lightened spirits and brightened rooms.
This latest snow remained on the trees throughout the first day, blanketing each one with thick tufts tucked onto all horizontal – and even some vertical – surfaces of rough-trunked trees like loblolly pines. Though each tree was likely cloaked, the uniqueness of the many varieties provided a multi-faceted backdrop as I sat in the hot tub on my icy deck, soaking the swollen knee that otherwise kept me house-bound during the snow event. A nearby dogwood tree towered like a giant cotton plant heavily laden with enormous bolls of fluff; a red bud tree stood sculpturally majestic with its long beans trailing like tassels out of twisted snow clumps; the wild cherry tree appeared both stately and sinister with its upward-reaching branches clad in white. Cloud-draped, they were all dressed the same, yet individual characteristics of each earth-springing creation stood evident.
The sight took me back to the greatest snow experience of my life, on Feb. 14, 1981, when I lived in Los Angeles but became stranded in New York City during a blizzard that paralyzed the East Coast. Not being able to return home cancelled yearned-for Valentine’s Day plans, leaving me feeling helpless and angry. When I could no longer stand being cooped up inside my hotel room, I furiously layered on all the clothes I had with me and walked outside, stomping my way from the westside eastward. When I reached Park Avenue, I crossed onto the median strip and, looking toward what was then the Pan Am building, suddenly realized that not another person was in sight. I had traveled from Sixth Avenue, breezed across Fifth Avenue and now stood in the middle of Park without having stopped for traffic or passed another pedestrian. In a city where millions lived and millions more worked, I stood alone – the silence broken only by the pounding of my heart. Something awoke inside, replacing the hot-white anger with a caressing warmth that dulled my disappointment and made life again seem wondrous.
Remembering that walk and not being able to venture out in this past snow spurred me to see the doctor who aspirated fluid from my knee, freeing me from near-crippling pain, returning my former abilities, helping me to again rejoice in the wonders of life.
Snow brings light of a different color, solitude within a universal family, and a blanket of uniformity that accentuates differences.
As we enter the second decade of this still-new millennium, may you find the elements required to refresh your senses, restore your balance and open you to the possibilities available to anyone with the courage to strive.