Snow in Rome

I thought it was supposed to be warm? That's what the weather predictions said for all the months leading up to the trip. That gauze shirt I brought? Didn't see much wear. My sweater, though? My constant companion.

You know how, once in a while, you are in the right place at the right time? Who knew it would snow in Rome? The last time was in February 2012, six years ago. To be there for such a rare occurrence made me smile...no, it made me grin like a fool.

Now, some may bemoan the inconveniences, but we reveled in the uniqueness of the scene. Waking to the crackling of crispy white flakes falling on the roof and several inches of snow covering the terrace was a delicious treat. How exciting!

While I got dressed, my daughter went out to take take photos of Trevi Fountain while it was still snowing. When we set out for the Vatican to be on-time for our tour appointment (silly us), we found the taxi stand around the corner barren, the Spanish Steps almost deserted. Only a few people were gingerly ascending, and most everyone was walking in the center of the deserted streets.

We suspected that they were mostly tourists. Any sensible Roman would still be at home, sweaters on and a hot espresso between their hands. It has a lot to do with what you are used to, I guess. Being from New England, four to six inches of snow is not an crisis. But since our boots were in the closet in Massachusetts, our toes began to feel the icy effects of the snowy streets in short order. Still, we plodded on.

The tour had been canceled, St. Peter's was closed, as was the Vatican Museum. Hundreds of visitors walked the snowy streets trying to figure out what they were going to do with their day. Most probably didn't have the luxury of an extended stay. 'Wasting' the day was not an option for them. They were moving on or going home in short order. I am glad we had the time to linger.

As we left the tour check-in point and headed back across Piazza San Pietro, laughter and singing greeted us as priests, parishioners and students flung snowballs, slipping and sliding in the wet snow. It was glorious. Nuns created a snowman complete with a real clerical collar. After months of bad news and governmental strife at home, it felt like a cleansing breath to see and hear such carefree joy.

The third attempt was the charm and we took our special Necropolis tour the next day. It offered us a different view of Rome, one that was reverent, meaningful in a different way. Deep underneath the Vatican, we explored streets of the dead with two-thousand year old 'houses' built specifically to honor members of Roman families who had passed on. Rather than feeling macabre, it felt peaceful.

As history's events flow in a tidal wave of reminiscences, so do its people. We each have our place in the river of time with recollections and stories passed down the line until we are also included in the telling.

We are born into families whose history spans the millennia and beyond. Whether we know all the details is not important. The history is there regardless. We grow, we learn, we age, and we eventually die. Some will miss us, others might have cause not to be concerned. So be it. Perhaps our contributions make us seem remarkable beyond the family and honors are bestowed. A statue marks our spot and our story is told. We provide inspiration for generations to come. Over and over, people flow in and out of life's river. They grow our society, contribute to its welfare, and if we are lucky, impart their wisdom, art, and compassion for others to build on.

Finally, we blend back into the grains of sand of the universe. We are once again part of the realm of earth and sky. We are carried on the wind and find harbor in the hearts of those who loved us. Memories hold us dear. Stories keep us alive.

When I think of the works of the great writers I have enjoyed, I know that each have given me insights that have shaped my thinking. When I see the creations of nature and man, I am inspired. When I hear music, I am soothed. The embrace of God, the hands of craftsmen, the minds of the thoughtful, and the curiosity of the explorers are the silt that runs along the bottom of the river of man. They are our foundation.

They are our salvation. Learn or weep.

Six feet and counting...

It's getting mighty deep out there! We can't shovel it fast enough.

Windblown and Buried

New England has so much to offer and it never disappoints. Cold and snow plummets down from the Arctic and buries us in fluffy white snow.

Blizzards and Patience

As the media got hyped up for the impending New England storm last week, I listened with increasing excitement and delicious pleasure. While I knew it was probable that we'd lose electricity if the winds were intense, it didn't overly worry me. We had a fireplace, lots of wood and a freshly tuned-up generator.

Shawl from Nature's Wrapture by Sheryl Thies

I did what most New Englanders do, I did all the electricity-necessary chores, put fresh batteries in the flashlights, cooked soup and a chicken pot pie, got out my knitting and made a fresh batch of cookies loaded with chocolate chips. Nothing says comfort during a storm than chocolate chip cookies.

It is odd to watch a storm gather on a TV map and take a walk outside under a field of puffy clouds in a clear sky. They did fill in, though, towards the middle of the week and we knew the 'Euro model' would likely prove correct and we were in for a pissah of a storm.

My only disappointment was that the bulk of the storm was overnight on Friday and I missed it. The high winds rattled the rafters and I could hear the gritty sound of snowblast on the siding as I fell asleep. It was soothing. This one didn't feel like a threat.

While it was still coming down Saturday morning, things started dissipating before noon and then the skies cleared and the sun dazzled as it reflected off the pristine snow.

The snowplow didn't get to us until mid-afternoon (actually my choice when I answered his phone call). Take your time...in no hurry...won't be going anywhere. Smile, smile. I like the feeling of being snowbound. It is cozy, safe and there is something about it that prompts me to take it easy and do things I might not make time for - easy things, pleasurable things. I knit, packed for my trip coming up on Friday and, of course, cooked.

This time, there was no electricity loss in Lunenburg although southern Massachusetts got a triple whammy on that score. No one was allowed on the road after 4PM Friday which was taken seriously so accidents were few and emergency people and plows could do their jobs with fewer impediments. Oh, I imagine there may have been a few foolish people but I wasn't out there so I didn't see them and I prefer to think they were all sensible and did what they were told. After all, it was only a 24 hour storm.  What could be so important that you just had to get to a store during the storm?  I mean, surely you knew about it beforehand?

I am so glad we settled here. There is so much to enjoy - good friends and family and maple syrup and blueberries to pick by hand. Oh, floating in the water - lake or sea, take your pick, both are awesome. Mountains and vistas, seagulls and an occasional bear tramping through the backyard. Okay, I can do without the last one. But warm beach sand you can sink your toes into until you reach the cool layers below, that is a scrumptious pleasure. The smell of the ocean, the feel of the breeze off the water as it cools your heated skin.

The hushed silence of the world during a snowfall and your sense of peace rediscovered when you experience it.

Later That Same Day

The promised snow started falling late in the afternoon. Minute flakes drifted down with increasing speed and by mid-evening every surface that had been cleared yesterday had reached the same depth again.

The cottony snow lay thick over the azalea branches. It drifted under the deck where it dusted the patio with a confectioner's coating. I am entranced by the hushed silence outside just as I am every time I experience it. How lucky I am to have the opportunity to enjoy this wonder of nature.

Snowy Saturday

It is the last Saturday morning in December and I am waiting for the snow to begin. Our plans to drive to Hartford to meet our new grand-niece, Lila, have been thwarted by the weather. While disappointed about today's trip, I am excited to go with plan B to spend the first day of the new year with her. I will relish my anticipation until then!

With a 'free' day at home, I am planning how I will make the most of the snowy weather and it will surely involve lighting the fireplace, a good book and stitching (maybe with some housekeeping thrown in). I am out of grape jelly so perhaps I will make a batch from the grapes I pressed and stored in the freezer.

Clutter from the holidays is scattered here and there. As I bend to pick things up while waiting for my tea to brew (a lovely Ronnefeldt Red Berries blend), delicious options skip through my head. I can do anything I want...or not.

It occurs to me that I am going into the new year more settled than I have been in a long time. My focus is renewed and priorities adjusted. There are still a few rough edges which need smoothed - I supposed there will always be - and I will deal with them when they warrant it.

Fotopastele Photography

I am savoring the ordinary moments - the taste of the rich fruit tea on my tongue, knowing that some of my grandmother's family-famous spritz that I make last week are still in the cookie tin and I can get one any time I want to. Cozy socks, our snoozing dog tucked into the crook of my dozing husband's legs in the other room and music played softly in the background soothe me.

I will make a rich beef stroganoff for dinner. By then, the snow will be flying in earnest and the comfort food will be welcome - perhaps in front of the fireplace. Hmmmm. I wonder if I can find an old movie from the 50's on TV - that wonderful time when entertainment was joy-filled.

There is a lot to be said for ordinary moments. While they mostly scoot by me unheeded, paying attention to them is creating a whole different mindset. Today, I will take note of each one and savor their simplicity. Paying attention is my reward.

Knee Deep in Snow...in October?

It has been an interesting week.  A massive nor'easter wiped out power in a great part of New England and days passed before we got ours back.  The generator failed the first day which made for pretty chilly nights. 

It was devastating to wake up on Sunday morning and see all the broken trees.  One huge branch hit the roof of the studio but slid off without doing damage, thank goodness.  Others are total losses and a huge rhododendron out front is uprooted.  Fourteen inches of wet, heavy snow dragged the branches down to the ground and held them captive.  I pulled on boots and dug out my winter coat and gloves and set about releasing the branches from the snow.  With the sun's help, perhaps they would lift back up again.  All over town (and the state) downed trees blocked roads and balanced on houses.  Just like the ice storm a few years back, the horrendous crack of branches had filled the night.  I hadn't thought I would hear that sound again.

Once again we drew chairs close to the fireplace and lit candles.  Other than the inconveniences, it was cozy and we talked and read by booklight, cooking pizza on the grill outside.  On Tuesday, when friends got their power back, they brought over their generator and hooked us up so we could have a few lights and keep the refrigerator going.  Wednesday, when the power came back on, we cleaned up the house and things started getting back to normal.  Not as long as our 12 days off the grid that icy cold and stormy December in 2008 but long enough.  My mother is still without power in Connecticut and it is not expected until late Sunday.  That is way too long.  

Getting back to normal is nice but doing without shows us that we can cope, we can be innovative and nothing is insurmountable.

April Fool's Day Snowstorm

'Only that day dawns to which we are awake'  Thoreau, Walden

It started snowing last evening and continued thru the night leaving us with a magnificent white world in the morning.  Heavy, wet snow blanketed everything - bowing branches to the ground and clinging to the ice still frozen on the lake creating a sinuous path around the point.

I want to stay home with a cup of tea and just sit by the front window and watch the snow cascade down the pine branches like little avalanches.  My job awaits, though, and I settle for what I know will be a beautiful drive into work.  As always, I am enthralled by this brief encounter with nature, knowing the day will bring changes and what I see now will not be there later.  I am a little sad that my responsibilities keep me from enjoying it to fullness.