Thursday, March 06, 2008

Isn't it cold up there?

Well, it is cold, but that is the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. What could be more jolly than a Welsh pub with twenty beers (including root beer) on tap and a wood fire in the fireplace, on a cold night? Cold? That's funny, I find it quite warm. A friend's Mom is begging me just today to take Laura to the slopes after school. I'm thrilled that we ended up in a place where good skiing is available twenty minutes away. Every time it snows, it's like a party. I remember being deeply depressed by the end of every February I was in New York City, but I haven't gotten tired of the snow here yet.

There is also a certain rightness that I am enjoying: snow under my boots for four months is the way nature intends it. Snow days and school closings feel like the way it's supposed to be. When Wayne said it was cold, he forgot to mention that it's absolutely breath-taking the way the weather changing every day changes the scenery. He is by nature neither a landscape nor a plein air painter - usually he's breathing fire down in his studio and completely oblivious to the weather - but even he notices and
acknowledges the inspirational atmosphere. The kids, on the other hand, have found snow to be the world's best toy.

The breakthrough to spring is going to be hallelujahs raining down. The night the rain broke through (March 2) and washed all the snow away, the geese on the pond a block away were barking with happiness, and I was glad I didn't live right on the verge there because, man, they were LOUD. After twenty years in LA, it is a thrill to have four distinct seasons, each with their own joys, rituals and trials.