Weather

In Southern California, when it rains the youth dash outside to feel the water falling from the sky upon their faces. It is refreshing. It is a blessing from the gods and they feel their pagan ancestors calling them to pay tribute, so they answer the call and prance barefooted or in flip flops (the general equivalent) in the puddles. It is ceremony of renewal. In Native American lore, rain is a symbol of cleansing, rebirth. When it rains on your wedding day, it is a sign of good luck.

When it rains in New York, forget about it.

Two steps out from my apartment on Wednesday, I was drenched. You know it is raining hard when every person on the bus looks like they took a dip in a pool in their professional attire. I started writing this blog while on the bus in the deluge on my way to work. I thought about texting my colleague, ''I'm wet and uncomfortable, may I go home?'' But, like the Post Office,  rain, sleet, plane delays, or super storms cannot stand in a peace builder's way.

Weather is fascinating to me. A childhood in So. Cal means that watching the weather forecast is not done to see the temperature, it is done to see John Coleman say, 'And the breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze....'

Daytime weather in So Cal is usually between 64* and 80* with low humidity, so this translates to New Yorkers as Florida without the sweating.

In my first year in New York it was the coldest winter in a decade if I am not mistaken. It does get cool (note that I didn't say "cold") in San Diego in December to February, but that's it and if it were to ever snow in San Diego proper, people would fear that the Apocalypse is near. Even in that movie, The Day After Tomorrow, in one of the scenes it is snowing on the San Diego/TJ border (Tijuana). So snow in SD = Bad News Bears. The first blizzard that I encountered was so alien to me. The university shut down for several days, but being that I lived in a dorm, I had to venture out into the wild to collect food.

Geared up in an ankle length, down parka, with jeans, sweats, gloves, thermal socks, boots, fur cap, and scarf I readied myself to be blasted. I never felt closer to my primordial ancestors than on this morning. 

When I first stepped outside of my dorm building, it was cold, but it wasn't horrendous. It was 19*, which is child's play to me now, but was misery to me then. I walked through the path, still covered in ice, through the walls of snow piled shoulder-high (keep in mind my shoulder height is around 4'8'') and toward the cafeteria that was at the end of a long corridor between buildings. On a normal day on this campus, this corridor is breezy as the campus is on a hill in deep Queens. On a blizzardy day, it is a vicious wind tunnel that seeks to suck the soul from your body. One step on to the central path and I was nearly blown over. Did I mention that the regular wind chill was -5? The tunnel windchill was probably -15. Not normal.

That day I saw many people get blown over onto their backs from the icie ground and the pushy wind. This just further proves my theory that we are meant to migrate south for the winter - the geese do it, why shouldn't we?

The next year brought us another winter full of snow. I was living on the campus in Manhattan then and two of my friends and I decided that we should celebrate the snow-day by migrating north (makes sense) to Central Park. We were going to have a real, right-proper snow day. So, my two warm climate friends (one from Barbados and the other from Texas), and I geared up and trekked out. Getting to the park was probably the most difficult part as many of the roads and paths had not yet been salted (this makes it sound like we live in some remote part of a mid-western state - no offense intended - but we lived smack in the middle of the Financial Center).

Looking north up West Broadway

When we made it to Central Park, we could not believe how much snow had fallen.

And we certainly had a blast playing in it.

Well, sort of - maneuvering in the snow after a lifetime of bare-feet/flip flops and sunshine was a bit exhausting.

But failing at making snowmen (being shown up by a youngster) and falling without the capacity to get up was a blast and a lot of laughs.

So errant weather will be what you make of it. It's raining here now and I'm using the time productively by blogging and grading finals. (Bella Tuna is using my distraction of blogging to raid my purse - I'm not really certain what she's after, but she's two thirds buried in my bag...I should probably stop her.)

Your humble writer,

S. Faxon