Never Walked In High Heels

Dated: February 3, 2009

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you could no longer see Canary Wharf from our flat. Stealing out in the dark to buy a loaf a bread for dinner, the huge flakes of snow fell faster and with less timidity, sticking to the pavement rather than dissolving. And by morning it had covered our city so thoroughly that nothing was moving - no buses, no trains, no taxis. The great city of London was immobilized by Mother Nature.

Growing up in Chicago means having childhood memories of it truly being too cold to snow, or waking up to go to school through 30 inches of snow that fell overnight. So when making my way to the docks on Monday morning to catch a ferry boat downtown, the last thing I expected was a call from my boss.

“Walking in a winter wonderland… Hey whatcha doing?”

“I’m getting onboard a boat to go to work. Why?”

“A boat! I can’t get in without skis or something!”

“So go get your skis.”

“No, I mean I’m going to have to cancel work today. I can’t get in.”

Really? Eight inches of snow and the city was just going to stop?  Yes. For two and a half days there have been no stores open or garbage collected. It’s like a blackout, after the first 20 minutes the novelty wears off and the entire situation feels as if you’re permanently stuck a surrealist painting where all of man’s problem solving abilities have gone the way of the melting clocks. The snow becomes an excuse for everything, and anyone who wishes to take a long weekend without notice is free to do so. Nothing is going to get done for the next week. And those of us who need to get work done can’t do a single thing about it, even after arguing with the people who are supposed to keep us on track. 

A few cups of hot cocoa later and I’m no closer to finding anyone who wishes to be functional today. I pull on my Scottish wool sweater, so thick my mom disdainfully calls it ‘the rug,’ to head outside. Snow continues to fall as I step out onto my balcony feeling like some sort of Arctic Juliet. Two families from India wave up to me from down below. “What is…” a seven year old son begins. He is just starting to learn English. Even if his vocabulary was a bit larger he most likely wouldn’t be able to indentify the concept of snow. He has most likely never seen it. And before I can stop, I hear myself replying, “it’s snow!! Hang on one sec, I want to show you something!.” And I make my way downstairs and outside.

The best days never go as planned. God just seems to throw your Palm Pilot out the window and bring in his own agenda. And although I can’t help but worry about  how little we try in the face of adverse conditions, I will not do so anymore today. This was the day that I taught six boys from three different countries how to have a proper snowball fight and how to build a respectable snowman. And in some sense, it has probably been my most productive day this year.