Andrew and I lived in the Glover Park neighborhood of D.C. back in the mid-nineties. Seeing the pictures of Snowmageddon this week brought back lots of memories of our own snow struggles while living there.
There was the time a blizzard hit while I was working for a Swiss-owned company. Even though the government shut down and bus lines were closed, there was no QUESTION but that my office would be opened. I dutifully arose in the dark, swathed myself in winter wool and hiked the 3.5 miles down to 14th and I Street, Laura Ingalls Wilder style. I arrived only 20 minutes late and covered in sweat under my business suit. As I unbundled, triumphantly glancing around the office in hopes of sharing battle stories, I realized: I am the only one who is late, these people look strangely unruffled, and everyone is gawking at me. To this day I wonder by what miracle they were able to teleport into the office, unaffected by weather patterns (god knows I was too embarrassed to ask.)
Then there was the time that a series of storms buried our little street, a few blocks off the main drag of Wisconsin Avenue, for an entire week. That meant no mail. Unfortunately, it was a week during which I was supposed to be receiving an offer letter from a new employer; having quit the Swiss company already, the fact that I didn't have a start date or confirmed salary in hand was quite unsettling. I took to chasing down mail trucks on Wisconsin Ave and asking them my version of the children's storybook refrain: "Do YOU have the mail for Tunlaw Road?" No one did, and the letter was still frozen in the USPS pipes when I picked what I hoped was the right Monday and the right time to show up at my new job.
Finally there was the February during which we couldn't have been any gloomier. The snow didn't stop, work was pressing down, no vacation was in sight. One night when I knew we needed a rescue I got home before Andrew, cranked the rowhouse heat up to 80 degrees, and put some Carribean black beans and rice on the stove to simmer. Threw some Bob Marley on the stereo, some beach towels on the floor, and opened up a couple of Red Stripe Lagers. When Andrew opened the door a mini-Caribbean getaway awaited.
If I had to recreate that experience this weekend, this is the soundtrack I'd be playing. Hoping to see Vampire Weekend next month at the Fox Theatre in Oakland...Happy thawing -
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