on weather

Looks like wedding planning may be starting to pick up again pretty soon. My "bride to be" (his words, not mine) and I recently talked about it and decided that it's probably an appropriate time to start edging toward that precipice again. I have to admit that after getting very excited about the planning over winter break, and then suddenly feeling like I had a bucket of cold water poured over me, I am a little reluctant to delve back into everything. But this morning I called my parents on my walk to work and my mom asked, "So, is the wedding still on?" And I realized that maybe I need to pull my head out of the sand, for at least a little bit.

On another note, the weather has been suspiciously spring-like these last few days. For the 27th time, the first warm day of a new year has nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. At the risk of sounding like a cliche, spring feels like getting a new lease on life. Especially after a bitterly freezing, windy cold winter in the Big City. But wait, what's that you say? It's the middle of February, not exactly springtime? Yeah, shhh... I know. I'm about to get my heart broken for the 27th time when the first warm day of the new year gives way to the most unwelcome snow day of the new year, which according to my weather report will be sometime next week.


Walking home from the train today, I noticed the waning sun casting a golden light over some buildings in my neighborhood, juxtaposed by the dark storm clouds off in the distance. Back in Virginia, this was one of my favorite sights... Golden green trees in the late afternoon with dark stormy clouds just yonder. I spent a moment taking in the sight, trying to decide if this same weather/color phenomenon was as beautiful in the middle of a crowded city street as in suburban (tree-lined) Virginia. Then I saw something flying lazily, gracefully across the skyline, carried along by the breeze and cast in that same lovely shade of gold. It was a plastic bag, I realized. I kept walking.

The other night, when I still had to wear a scarf, full coat buttoned up to my chin, gloves, a hat and long underwear, it snowed. A lot. For the first time, the snow stuck on more than just the cars. T went down to walk the dog and called up to me from the bottom of the stairs: "Come down. You're going to want to see this." So down I trudged, into the six inches of snow, wearing sneakers and the whole winter get-up. He was right. It was a beautiful sight and the streets were strangely quiet, lending a bit of that Southern ambience to the scene. We threw snowballs at the dog, buried treats for him in the ground, made a snowman to try to scare the s*~t out of him (unsuccessfully) and generally made merry. A pair of Mexican couples from the southern end of the neighborhood had made their way up to the park by our apartment and the streets echoed with their unselfconscious laughter. They were throwing snowballs at one another and pulling one another to the ground. It reminded me of the time, just before I left my job in North Carolina, when a morning snowfall struck unexpectedly on a morning when none of the crews had work. There were only a couple of new employees hanging around the warehouse taking care of some odds and ends, and I didn't know them that well. As I sat at my computer, one of them had rushed in urgently, with a look of alarm on his face. "Quick, tell the patrona," he said, gesturing toward the window. "There's something wrong with the light out there." He was talking about a street lamp that for some reason sat in the middle of the warehouse yard. I asked him what the problem was. "It's sparking. Some kind of an explosion!" We rushed to the window. The street lamp was casting a light on the falling snow, refracting into the darkness and creating the illusion of sparks. I asked if he had ever seen snow before. "No, I've only been here a few months," he said. For some reason, that was one of those amazing moments that I'll never be able to recreate or retell. But when I saw those couples playing around in the snow, I thought of that nameless guy at my old job, and was really glad I had known him.