A few days after the January snowstorm, I started to get cabin fever. I couldn’t believe I was actually looking forward to having lunch at the senior center in my building. That’s how limited my life had become. It had been five years since we had a foot of snow in New York City, then followed by 10 days of below freezing weather.
I missed my long daily walks around the neighborhood. Last year on Jan. 30 it was 52 degrees and I strolled in Hudson River Park. This year it was six degrees on the same date.
I rescheduled a much-needed haircut and cancelled physical therapy. (I could do those boring exercises at home.) I had a ticket to a literary event in Gramercy Park but when I saw the big snow mounds at the bus stop, I knew I was staying home
Little trips within my neighborhood kept me sane. My solution post snowstorm was to go places within two blocks of Westbeth, my building. I walked to the 11th Street Café for chai latte and a croissant. I enjoyed the lunch special at the Bus Stop Café, a diner on Hudson and Bethune. I had the veggie Reuben on rye with squash soup and coffee.
The highlight of my snowbound week was hanging out with my friend Carole at Stafili Wine Cafe, on Greenwich Street. We had gift certificates won at Drag Bingo (which takes place in Westbeth). Since we arrived during happy hour, a glass of excellent wine was only nine dollars. We drank rosé and noshed on hummus and olives. We had a great conversation while sitting in front of a real fireplace with an electronic fire. It felt rejuvenating to be out of our apartments and socializing.
As the week dragged on, I appreciated the activities at Westbeth that anchor my life and take place snow or shine. Monday I zoomed into Jen’s yoga class. Tuesday I attended Steve’s meditation class in the community room (which was really cold). Wednesday I taught the memoir class at the senior center, and Friday I went to Eve’s singing class in the community room. I’d go crazy without this routine, especially during winter.
On Thursday I finally ventured out for a longer walk, breaking in my new waterproof winter boots. I bought them years ago and they’d been sitting in my closet. It was 18 degrees with no wind so I slogged over to Hudson Park Library to pick up my books on reserve. I had to do this before it dropped into single digits on the weekend.
Reading and cooking occupied my indoor time. I made black bean chili, vegetable soup, red lentil soup, and chickpea stew with coconut. I had learned how to cook when I was stuck inside during the pandemic. Back then, I followed recipes in The New York Times “At Home” section. I clipped the ones I liked and still use them.
Making these recipes brought back the pandemic lockdown but now I knew this would end when the weather warmed up and the snow melted. People were saying “stay warm,” recalling when we said “stay safe” during the pandemic.
I finished reading The Year of Living Constitutionally by AJ Jacobs, which I bought when the author gave a talk at Westbeth during early January. Jacobs’ latest book is educational and humorous as he writes with a quill pen, learns to shoot a musket, and hands out pamphlets on the sidewalks. Taking a deep dive into our Constitution became even more relevant after ICE murdered two American citizens in Minneapolis. What happened to their First Amendment rights?
I’m convinced Renee Good, a poet and mother, was shot because she was a lesbian, making this a hate crime, and then Alex Pretti, a VA nurse, was executed. I’m outraged and horrified. While I was stuck inside, I spent a lot of time on social media, defending these two activists from the attacks on their character.
Minnesota and Ohio
Then Bruce Springsteen, hero of my native state of New Jersey, dropped his incredible song “Streets of Minneapolis.” It recharged me with energy and reminded me of when Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young came out with “Ohio.” The massacre at Kent State occurred when I was a senior in college. Now this was happening again.
I admired the residents of Minneapolis protesting the occupation of their state during subzero temperatures. I dissected Bruce’s lyrics, the pointed references and the poetic language.
“It’s our blood and bones. And these whistles and phones. Against Miller and Noem’s dirty lies.”
I danced and pumped my fist as the catchy chorus built to a crescendo. “We’ll remember the names of those who died // on the streets of Minneapolis.” Within a week, the lyrics appeared in the Westbeth Poetry Corner, a space in the lobby usually reserved for residents.
But even powerful music could only go so far to warm my sagging spirits. After dealing with this freezing cold for a week, I was fed up. Then I woke up on Jan. 31 to a chilly apartment and a NO HEAT message. A pipe had burst during the night and the heat was off until plumbers could make the repairs. It was 11° and my weather app blared severe weather advisory. Westbeth is good about making repairs, but this job was complicated. By the time heat was restored that evening, I was huddled in front of a space heater, bundled up in a long wool sweater, an Afghan draped over my lap.
The next morning, my apartment had warmed up, and I zoomed into a meditation for inner peace from my spiritual teacher, Nadiya Peters, a qigong master and Taoist meditation teacher. We originally met in New York at Integral Yoga Institute but Nadiya moved back to Ireland, her native country. Feb. 1 is the feast day of Bridget, Ireland’s patron saint/goddess/medicine woman and my teacher offered a free workshop in her honor.
Although it was only 30 minutes, this meditation was a reset. I felt so calm at the end and I realized that I had to adjust my thinking. We were only half way through our winter and I had to accept this fact. But in the Irish tradition, Feb. 1 is the Celtic festival of Imbolc and considered the first day of spring. I took hope from that declaration, even though our local ground hog predicted six more weeks of winter.
Two weeks after the storm, the snow had not melted. I was still sticking close to home. It was two degrees on Feb. 8, but felt like 10 below. “I’m so over this,” said Odessa, our savvy security guard, who was sitting behind the Westbeth front desk, wearing a jacket. I was glad she’d splurged on a cab that frigid morning.
A reprieve?
But then, in the middle of February, we had we had several days in a row where it was over 40°. This felt like a turning point and I convinced myself the worst was over. My running app chided me: “You took fewer steps over the last five weeks.” I traded my boots for my sneakers and resumed my long daily walks. That felt good.
I thought we were out of the wintry woods until we got warnings to prepare for a blizzard arriving on Feb. 22, a month after the big snowstorm in January. I did some grocery shopping and ordered a case of wine. The snow started falling on Sunday afternoon and New York was shutting down. No school Monday. As my deadline closed in, twenty inches of snow were predicted.
When I was snowbound in January, I was a trooper, cooking and reading, treating it like an adventure, but now I was done. I didn’t want to go back to my clunky boots and limited lifestyle. I was glad I’d ordered that wine and picked up some buds at the The Flowery, a new dispensary on Christopher Street. I even got the local discount. Time to put on some jazz and try it out.
