It’s a snow day.
When I was a kid, snow days meant you could go outside, run around in snow up to your knees (at least) and throw snowballs at any target you thought you could hit. You could build a snowfort with your friends from which to pelt passing innocent pedestrians and cars (but, more likely, other kids who lived nearby and were offended by your building a competing snowfort in their territory–think Russia and Ukraine).
And coming home to leave a pile of snow by the back door, a pile of clothes in the bathroom and finding something hot to eat in front of the TV. No school, no goals, just a blissful absence of need and responsibility, a fulfilling nothingness. The best kind of day.
Today, I’m taking a few pictures out the window and looking up old musicals to watch while we eat soup in front of the TV. A state of emergency has been declared in New York City which suppresses any desire I might have to go outside. We’re watching Altman’s ‘Nashville’, which is a twisted version of a musical, though we may get to Gene Kelly and Fred and Ginger later. But the weather outside is frightful and somehow, that fulfilling nothingness persists.
It still feels like a snow day.