©️ The Madeleine Diaries
After my rant about all the things I hated about New York City when I moved back this summer, I thought I would make an effort to rebalance things. For my own mental well-being, especially as my adopted country is entering a new era which quite frankly scares me, and makes me miss the comforts of home, imagined or real. And to stop being a grouch, because it does get old. After all, we could all use a little support these days, particularly if, like me, you find yourself in the middle of a polar vortex that will make the mere thought of going outside difficult to contemplate.
I had forgotten about New York winters. Yes, Paris was grey and dreary for a few months a year, and I know I found a ways to complain about that. I am a complainer; it’s time to accept it. But we did have the Sicilian oranges to cheer us up, and the temperatures rarely went below 0°C. Heck, I almost never used the warm down jacket I bought the first year, thinking I couldn’t survive the winter without replacing the old, tattered one I discarded before moving. Mind you, it is in perfect condition now that I need it daily. But of course, I wish I could wear the cute wool coat I purchased in Paris, and I am quite done with all this puffy duck feather business, as well as the mess of knit and fleece items that pile up in my entry table.
Anyhow, I digress. All I mean to say is that is cold. Very cold. And that I did not miss those mornings when leaving the house happens in a chaos of screams and half-open backpacks and missing gloves and hats and holding the elevator while one child goes back in to retrieve a missing mitten. In Paris, there was no school bus to catch before 7:30 am, and rarely the real need for a hat. I bought a set of twenty, yes, twenty magic gloves to last me through the first winter, and they remained virtually untouched until now. But after a little over a month of winter weather here, we are down to three functioning pairs. And did I mention my teenage daughter who loses everything every week and whose only warm coat was retrieved this morning from the school lost-and-found, that she swore she had been checking daily?
You see what I mean. A mother needs help. A woman, a human, need help in these inhospitable conditions. If you live in Canada, you will be laughing at this. And please know that I know your plight. I have been to Montreal in November, and I was colder than I ever was anywhere in the dead of February. Even in Vermont. My husband has family roots there and it is our favorite place to escape to when we can. We rented a place there during the Covid lockdown, and it snowed on May 8. We have also skied there many times with below 0℉ windchill. No later than two weeks ago, in fact. And it was so cold then, that even my teenagers were begging me for hats, gloves, neck warmers and snow boots. All the items they swear they don’t need when they leave in the morning at home.
So, this is our world right now. And I know that as California is burning, I should not be complaining about being too cold. My in-laws live in California and I do not take this lightly. We worry about them every day. Witnessing families who have lost everything brings nothing but distress, and I am acutely aware that my East Coast preoccupations are laughable in comparison. But laughter is all I have at my disposal at the moment. Laughter and silliness and anything inconsequential. When the outside world appears so menacing and unpredictable and it seems like the ground could shift from under our feet at any moment, the little things are what keep us sane. Or what keep me sane, at least. So, much like I did about a year ago before the Christmas madness, I do need to remind myself daily of all the things I enjoy here in the dead of Winter. Here is a list, that I will keep updating for myself as more small delights pop up, as I hope they will.
The season has passed, but all the old-fashioned wreaths on brownstones doors really helped me get through December. I even saw a few trucks with wreaths attached to the front. Like in the cute little book I used to read to my boys around Christmas. Seeing them gliding silently in the snow did bring a smile to my face even when it was dark at 4 pm.
Central Park in the snow is a sight to behold. Walking back on Christmas eve from the fancy French place where I bought a disappointing Bûche de Noël, was a gift I didn’t realize I missed. Running alone around the frozen reservoir in the early morning after school bus drop-off, is also a treat, especially after managing the daily missing hats and gloves crisis ⬆.
The New York Society Library’s member room has a fireplace. No fire is ever lit there, but it doesn’t matter. Sitting by the virtual fire in a comfy armchair, with the New York Times, helped me get through my first few weeks back in the U.S., and it remains the perfect refuge from the frozen city.
Toasted bagels and hearty American cakes can really carry you through a rough day. The banana cake from Billy’s Bakery rarely disappoints.
An overpriced borscht recommended by a friend, soothed a wintry Tuesday. Capped by an affogato, it was pure heaven.
Morning oatmeal, ready upon waking thanks to my new rice cooker. I will probably need a separate post about this. Oatmeal is not common in France and Mc Cann’s Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal impossible to find, even at the Grande Epicerie. Needless to say, I am making up for lost time.
Frozen reservoirs, frozen lakes. The Northeast really does Winter right. On our way back from Vermont after New Year’s, we drove past one of our favorite lockdown places, and there were people ice skating on the lake. I couldn’t capture it in a photo as it went by too fast, but it was such a delightful vision. These little characters, gliding giddily with a few warming tents scattered all around. I don’t think I had ever seen anything like it, and it just enchanted the whole family. There was such lightness and joy in this play with nature, it made the long ride home go by much quicker. This is the vision I want to carry with me as I walk around the frozen city, hoping for better days. There might not, in fact, be much better days than these.
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