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Warm memories of cold times

By ROBYN E. BLUMNER
Published February 19, 2006

The Blizzard of '06 that hit the Northeast will be remembered for its mountainous snowdrifts, whiteout driving conditions and closed airports. But not down here. In Florida, where temperatures dipped into the 30s for a minute, we were warned to bring in our orchids.

I have lived in Florida since 1989, and not a year goes by without my feeling just a tad left out. It's not so much the blue states as the blue-lips states that I have romanticized through the filter of yesterday's frosted windows.

Living in, as the brochures say, a sun-drenched paradise means I get to spend most of the winter months in T's and sandals. Which is why we're filling up down here while, in Buffalo, N.Y., you can no longer put together a decent tag football game.

Still, I retain a sentimentality for really cold days - the triumph of steeling yourself to dart out from under body-warmed sheets. Those vigorous days when the breath emanating from your lungs declares itself in a puffy cloud, as if your life comes with atmospherics.

I grew up in New York and went to college in Ithaca, a snowbelt town, where clothes were purely a matter of utility. It didn't matter what the designer label was as long as it had a high percentage of fleece.

Yes, I remember my toes feeling like I could break them off and the wind freezing my scarf to my face. I also remember the preternatural quiet of snow falling, the cozy caress of a warm fire, and hearty soups being part food, part stomach muff.

There is something about the cold that gives you zest and energy. I never feel like falling asleep on a beach when it's 20 degrees outside. Chopping cordwood is more like it. (I don't actually do that either, but maybe I would if I lived up north.)

One's happiness also apparently has a temperature coefficient. According to the World Database of Happiness, cold and contentment run together. The happiest people on Earth live in Denmark, Switzerland and Iceland, while the most despondent live in Tanzania and Zimbabwe. When you're chilled to the bone, you are less inclined toward internecine conflict and making your fellow man's life miserable.

The Blizzard of '06 blanketed two feet of snow on Manhattan - a gift from nature's set designer. When all decked in white, the city is a glamorous stage for any encounter. One night, when I was in law school at New York University in Greenwich Village, the snow was so heavy it stopped traffic. My friends and I (about eight of us) had tickets to see the Fantasticks that evening. It was being performed at the Sullivan Street Playhouse, as it had been for the prior 23 years. The theater was only a few blocks from our dorms. With drifts to our knees, we plowed our way there, expecting to see a "show canceled" sign for our troubles. But the show went on. We were the night's only audience.

The Blizzard of '06 came as a surprise after a mild December and the warmest January in the history of writing such things down. My parents, of Manhattan, reported that daffodils had already started to make their presence known. Without a calendar, the perennials were easily fooled into thinking that it was late March, their proper entrance.

Premature daffodil sightings are just another piece of evidence that the Earth is warming. That, along with glaciers disappearing, coral reefs dying and ice cream melting faster on the cone.

Once, this country was serious about repairing the environment. Scrubbers on smokestacks and catalytic converters in cars made the air freshen up. When raw sewage, toxic chemicals and garbage could no longer be dumped in our lakes, the water stopped catching on fire.

The experts say it's not as easy to patch up a damaged ozone layer. Which means we can't wait until Key West is under water to start getting serious. But with Kyoto being a dirty word and NASA's top climatologist, James Hansen, being told to zip it when it comes to any loose global warming talk (that is until the gag order became public), the two oil men at the White House seem unwilling to get moving.

The Blizzard of '06 could end up being the last great one on record. With daffodils popping up instead of snowmen, the whole Northeast might soon join Florida's absence-of-winter club. On the plus side: year-round barbecues and no need for boots. On the minus side: the destruction of the Earth as we know it. That's a fair trade, don't you think, Mr. President?

[Last modified February 17, 2006, 19:53:02]