Apres le Snowstorm

You know what? I wrote this whole piece about the Blizzard of 2005, including its non-desrructive beauty, the sheer fun of it in Providence, of how RISD art students created amidst the storm, about how the poor Brown students missed the whole thing, out on break between semesters, and about how my daughter and I walked for hours on College Hill at midnight and down nearly empty, gaslighted streets in which one might easily imagine horses and carriages, and in the next days we skiied up and down the streets. But somehow the entire post vanished with the click of a mouse button, forever lost, if not forgotten by me. And so it goes. Let's just see what happens to this attempt! Good: all's not lost, for this remains.

There is a joy in skiing down carless, tree lined streets when most people are asleep in their beds. It is as though, leaving our 18th century apartment behind, we have walked into another century. I thought of Dickens and London, though, as Texan senator wannabe president Lloyd Bentsen might have said, substituting London for Jack Kennedy "I know London; London was a friend of mine, and you, Providence, are no London." The incongruous sight of someone skiing down a street is only heightened by the time of night, and place. Were we not amidst the "Blizzard of 2005"? Ought not all mammals and humans be safe and warm at home? Did our ancestors have skiis at all? Not back then. The anacronism is in itself an amusement. And having fun, for some, is simply not this easy.