Snow Day

Every time the weather forecast issues a winter advisory - I am clapping my hands, jumping and bouncing around like a little girl.
At least - when snow is involved.
Today 9 inches are expected over the city, up to a foot by the lake front (and guess where I live?!?!?) - nothing can make me happier in the dead of winter.
Except of course that today - I had to cancel lunch with darling Kelly......that's what happens when you have a wreck of a car that is still damaged from a previous accident. No right front light, a very bruised bumper, scratches and the engine light on. Even though we are indeed in 2010 and that the stretch of bad luck should be officially over - I didn't really want to put that to the test.
Not today.

Strangely enough, none of my snow memories are linked with childhood. It snows every winter in my part of France but usually not enough to be really memorable. And - please note - never for Christmas. That would be too much to ask for.
Of course.
But I do have a picture of me at 7 or so, all bundled up in a red anorak, an itchy balaclava (man did I hate these things) and thick white tights. I am grinning to the camera in front of a freshly made snowman. One of the few things I did during my life with my dad. We were on vacation at my great-aunt house in Alsace, and my little cousin (11 or 12 at the time) was listening endlessly to "Careless Whisper" and day-dreaming of George Michael.

I had then a painful encounter with cold and snow in Eastern Europe; Prague was blanketed with a thick layer of white powder, muffling every sound in the city. It was magical, and still unspoiled by tourism. I fell in love for the first time. I was going on 16.
The painful part came a few days later in the plains of Bohemia, when the Siberia wind was blowing over the Auschwitz/Birkenau camps. The temperatures plummeted down to a frigid minus 35 degrees Celsius; we had to shorten our visit and go back inside the bus.

The next memory is set yet again a few years later, this time back in my hometown.
Winter of 1996-1997. An exceptional one. Snow stayed on the ground 29 out of the 31 days of January. It was such a big deal that it was even talked about in the news on national television. You can just imagine the precious report that came out of it, journalists asking people on the street how they felt about 'the situation'; it was meant to be serious. It was just hilarious.
I remember throwing my first dinner 'party' that month; small circle - restricted to my family: mom, step-dad, brother and mamie. I went grocery shopping with warm boots on, elated to have people over for the very first time, in my very first place. I was happy. I had planned a wonderful meal, with duck breast as a star and a hell of a dessert.
That ended up being the first and only visit of mamie to my place.
So, yes. Close to my heart.

After that - snow for me is all about the US. First in Connecticut, where my second winter was punctuated by a dozen blizzards. I loved being snowed in in my little blue house in the woods, surrounded by absolute silence. It was utterly beautiful. I remember watching intently The Weather Channel from the diner across the road, praying for more bad weather coming my way. Being aware of my eccentric and slightly irresponsible yearn but unable to join the choir of laments when sorry weathermen were promising more inches. Trying instead to repress a smile.
I knew the danger involved though. I had been caught in a nasty storm on my way back from Providence after Thanksgiving weekend, and had driven in a snow vortex for five hours. A surreal experience. Even the ultimate chore of snow shoveling an entire driveway was not bad enough to make me wish for dry weather.
Call me nuts if you want. There is no rationality involved.

Snow days in Chicago aren't of course as enchanting. The immaculate beauty cannot compete for very long with the hustle and bustle of the city. But it is more striking in a way. The neighborhood is different; softer. Quiet. Forgiving. I love going out at night under the falling flakes, arm in arm with my sweetie, listening to the unmistakable cracking sound of our shoes on the covered sidewalk. Shivering a bit, red-nosed and eyes-watering I just enjoy a pure cluster of happiness. One of these plaisirs minuscules around which Philippe Delerme wrote a little masterpiece.
A tiny pleasure.
Can't wait for tonight...