Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Hurricane and now snow


It has been an interesting two weeks in New York. First, the news was dominated by an NYPD officer accused of planning to kidnap and eat several women.

He was bumped right off the headlines by the terrible killings of two small children, allegedly by their nanny.

Then came the hurricane, and that horror slid out of sight.


And now it is very cold, and snowing.


It is bittersweet. I find snow enchanting. It makes the air fluid, like soft white curtains in a breeze. But there are people without power, without heat, without their own walls. My attempted delivery of food to a shelter has failed, twice. We'll try again, tomorrow.

The streets are now slush - it can't stick. But up on the rooftops there is the magical whiteness of snow flurries.

Trees already under pressure will suffer, because many still have their leaves. Each leaf is surface to which wet snow clings. Thousands of leaves bend their branches to snapping.

Emergency personnel strained to the maximum must now cope with the accidents that the first cold white weather brings.

And I sit here and look at the upside-down and crystallizing terrace with pots all safe from the wind. I feel warm and lucky to be seeing a new season.

If the Mayans were right about the end of the world, it isn't such a bad time to go. I have learned to make the perfect omellete, after all. I have found the man I was made to love. I have not yet had to live through losing my parents, or closest loved ones. I sold my first book. I saw Mandela walk free and Barack Obama elected president. Twice.

But I have not made a grand marnier souffle. Or learned to skateboard. Or camped in an Airstream (or a Scamp). Or had a bigger garden. Or stayed on a Scandinavian island. Or cooked for my mother in France...

Hm...

14 comments:

  1. the metaphor, a magnet to attract, and/or radar to seek out the things that we love. Free will, fate, chaos, okay. pack me and the cad in your back to Scandinavia. Semla, here I come.

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  2. The mantra that has gotten me through more than a few trying times:

    Everything will be okay in the end
    and if it's not okay, it's not the end.

    It is going to be okay.
    **Thank you for being a personal and thoughtful perspective as I keep looking for ways in to see how the city is faring!

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  3. If it were the end, I'd expect your curtains to draw with such grace.

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  4. Everyone has the Mayan thing all wrong...When we tear off the last page of our calendar, we buy a new calendar. The Mayan come to the end of their calendar albeit etched in stone, they simply need a new calendar...

    Maybe one with cats doing silly things on the internet...

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  5. Yes. This post has been such a comfort, Marie. We are nestled under many inches of snow here in SW CT, where the hush and softness is just beautiful. Taking advantage of these moments gives me fuel to go out into the world and do what little things I can to divert us from the brink.

    Namaste.

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  6. What a lovely post! Brought tears to my eyes.

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  7. Thanks for the beautiful reminder that so many of us have so much for which to be grateful!

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  8. I had already sort of forgotten about the man that wanted to eat women - where was he from, mars?

    The garden looks lovely. The pictures bring it all back and the hush that happens with the first snow fall.

    All the cussing etc. comes later with the shovels and snow blowers ;-)

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  9. A beautiful post. I love your philosophizing. There is much to be grateful for... but I hope we have some time still to fulfill more personal destinies, both big and small.

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  10. your gratitude is the best antidote to all of what has happened as of late - thank you Marie.
    I think Rachelle is right, endings just mean new beginnings. besides, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
    you have an amazing bucket list and despite all these goings on I have a feeling you will achieve what is left with a few more additions. & thank you for inspiring me, now I shall go and work on mine.

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  11. You were right about the trees. In a brief walkabout this morning, I saw more branches down than during Sandy. Many seem to have been weakened by Sandy's gales and then brought down by the very wet snow. Sad. Worst possible combination. But Spring will bring new growth I guess.
    Unless the Mayans are right.

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  12. Beautiful photos. I'm glad you're now safe.

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