plastic snowman engulfed in real snow
This month, the equation is flipped: I have had abundant time, but little source material. Boston has had eight snow days this winter. Add that to this past week's February break (the timing of which at first felt like a joke, given that the whole month of February has been a break, but turned out to be fortuitous: The latest blizzard hit last Sunday and almost certainly would have led to another day or two of cancelled school, had there been any school to cancel), and we have had six days of school in the entire month so far. I have seen my students only six times in February. I am currently supposed to be writing report cards comments for children whose faces I can barely remember.
Here is a subject I feel much closer to a the moment: Snow.
sidewalk in my neighborhood
It is strange how much a landscape can change over the course of a few days. I have seen icicles I can't describe. I have seen car antennas peeking out of perfect domes of snow. I have seen shoveled parking spots marked with space-savers which, after another night of snow, are themselves in need of shoveling out. Speaking of space-savers, I have seen all manner of them: milk crates, stepping stools, plastic chairs, wooden chairs, end tables, and my personal favorite for its practicality--the shovel itself. Sidewalks, where they exist, are single-file. Every commute takes twice as long as it used to; even with the roads cleared, there are fewer lanes, more accidents, and snow banks that completely obscure the view of oncoming traffic.
my foot on top of a full-sized fence
Within this new landscape, we build a new society. There are new rules to learn, new norms to establish. Which one of us steps aside on the sidewalk? Where do you put the snow you are shoveling? Is this unmarked spot really up for grabs, or will it result in a vitriolic note or a keyed car--both have happened to friends. We ruminate on the metaphysical, the moral, the morbid: how can so many microscopic flakes add up to so much? Should I help push that stranger's car out of that snow bank? Why did humans ever settle here?
Like any dystopian hellscape, it can bring out the best in people as well. Neighbors shovel for neighbors. I saw an employee of the auto shop next door hoist an old lady over a puddle like a sack of rice. It was strangely lovely.
From the inside of this weather event, I am not yet sure how to interpret it. "Weather Wisdom" weatherman David Epstein calls it meteorologically incredible. This op-ed calls it a FEMA-worthy natural disaster. My new favorite Tumblr simply lays Beckett quotes on top of it. Like the global warming that underlies its existence, it is slow-moving but not slow-moving enough, beautiful but insidious, and disproportionately harmful to the poor and the marginalized.
From my position of relative privilege, this winter is navigable. Public transit shutdown are annoying, and cold weather is... cold. But I have enough little shops in my neighborhood to keep myself nourished and enough friends nearby to stave off seasonal affective disorder. I have sturdy snow boots.
My students think they love snow days, but they come back from each one complaining of how bored they were. Their parents stress about getting them to and from school, about arranging childcare when school is cancelled. I worry they are forgetting how to read. Roofs are collapsing. Soon the snow will turn to water, and ice. Houses will leak. Hips will break.
roof rakes are a thing
School is back in session tomorrow. Hopefully we are done with snow days for the year. It is hard to imagine, but I am told that eventually, somehow, all the snow will be gone. It will probably be August, when the new school year is starting. I will try to make time to write before then.
* * *
Loyal readers, as a reward for reading to the end, you are invited to play a game of "Snow Pile or Car?":
A.
B.
C.
Answers: a) car, b) car, c) I truly do not know.
