Wednesday, March 7, 2018

New York in the Un-snow.

The weathermen--and according to Dylan, we don't need them to know which way the wind blows--were predicting their 27th or 18th Snowmageddon in New York, starting last night around ten and continuing until mastodons once again stampede down 2nd Avenue.

I went to sleep entertaining the slim hope that I would have an excuse, however spurious, that I could wrest an unplanned day off or a work-from-home from my overly austere Super Ego.

Waking up at one last night, I opened the shutters expecting to see the effects of the Second Ice Age on York Avenue. Instead there was a drizzle of rain and enough traffic to freak out the 405 if we were in LA.

This morning the emails have begun peppering my inbox. "School is cancelled" one reads. Another asserts, "We had 12 inches in the suburbs." I'm sure before the clock strikes ten there will be two or four other such missives in my mailbox.

But here in the city, that enlightened and bedimmed world where everyone, somehow, just seems to cope, seems to get along and make our way, things are little more than damp and we're going about our business.

Which is exactly as it should be.

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