When my friend grabbed me by the shoulder and started shaking me I thought the house was on fire and I mentally prepared that list of things I had to grab before they went up in flames. But no, it was something entirely different. As I blinked sleepily at her, stretching my arms above my head, I heard her say the words, "snow", and suddenly everything went white. It was five o'clock in the morning, five o'clock in the morning in new york city, and I'd never seen snow before. I leapt out of bed and ran to the window, both of us resting our foreheads on the glass and peering out. The sky was so white it seemed unreal, like in a movie or something, and each snowflake fell with the grace and poise of a ballet dancer. My friend smiled at me. "Let's go outside," she said. "Just for a minute."
We grabbed the things that were nearest to us in our rush to be in the thick of it - she ended up in gumboots and a trench-coat, me in my swing coat, ballet flats (in retrospect a bad decision) and two big scarves. I twisted them both around my neck as we ran down the three flights of stairs that would take us to the ground floor. She grabbed the door and flung it open and we rushed outside - there we were, there we were! - and it was snowing, and it was freezing, like bone-chillingly cold, and we were so happy. In truth, the strongest memory I have of that morning was the smiles, the big smiles, the ones that spread across our faces, and the infectious laughter that bubbled up and never really stopped, not even as we crawled up the stairs, ebullient but shivering 30 minutes later, not even when we eventually fell back to sleep warm and toasty in our beds. Outside, we were under-dressed and overwhelmed, jumping up and down from excitement and from cold and from being in New York and being with my friend and being together. That morning was one of those fleeting New York minutes, the ones you remind yourself to remember at the time because you know that they are Important with a capital I. Every other time I had been to New York I had enjoyed myself, and enjoyed the city, but I'd never felt that it was for me. That morning, with snowflakes that stayed on my nose and eyelashes, I realised that I could live there forever, and that I actually wanted to.
I've always been happiest in the cold. I'm a coat and scarf kind of girl, you know? That's why I smile so big in my pictures overseas. Because I'm just happy to be cold. Invariably I end up looking like this when I'm over there, rugged up, wearing six layers or something ridiculous, but underneath the fur and cashmere and wool and all that I'm very, very happy. Cold weather means coats, and boots, and scarves and sweaters! Cold weather means steaming bowls of soup, and restorative cups of tea, and bushels of plums! Cold weather means the promise - sealed with a firm handshake and assured by wizened old grandparents who always know best - the promise of snow!
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ps. I know the past couple of posts have been about New York. Can you tell I'm longing to stray?
You have read this article coats /
cold /
friends /
New York /
pictures /
snow /
the sartorialist /
winter /
writing
with the title cold happiness. You can bookmark this page URL http://startthefire-cafagesta.blogspot.com/2012/01/cold-happiness.html. Thanks!
