I am taking just a short break from my reading. I’m finishing Timothy Schaffert’s Swan Gondola today and then drowning myself in Edmund White’s Inside a Pearl; My Years In Paris, and I still have the book section and magazine from The Sunday New York Times, plus the latest issue (well, the latest issue to have arrived in my mailbox – but don’t get me started on this) of New York Magazine, so, I can’t stay long.
Everyone is blogging and Tweeting about the snow and I’m sure if I had Facebook or Instagram or Vine or any of the other things that I would see them also full of snow-pics. So, what the hell. I’m adding my little “the world is entirely about me” energy to the mix.
Look, I know I live a life of extraordinary privilege. I am grateful for this. So, I post this snow-blog-post fully aware of how lucky I am to have the leisure and warmth and power and food and great good luck to be experiencing this weather inside the walls of a beautiful, well-insulated, safe home. Albeit, a home not my own.
I arrived at this house/pet sitting gig yesterday at 10:30a.m. having stopped on the way to stock up for the predicted snow/ice storm. I settled in for about thirty minutes. Reading. Writing. And was SO OVERTAKEN by guilt that I forced myself to go to the gym. Here’s the thing, last week was really busy and by the time it wasn’t, I somehow got some virus-y-flu thing and so, well, I hadn’t been to the gym in almost a week.
Unacceptable. I know that healthy eating and the gym are the only things standing between me and the Tennessee Williams as Blanche DuBois Doldrums and Dolors into which I sink, or, rather, sidle and slide, slowly, sneakily, stuck there in the weeping by the time I notice it is happening AGAIN.
So, I went to the gym. And the locker room. Alas, my experience was not like this – an Andrew Christian underwear ad called “Boys Locker Room” (the missing apostrophe is NOT my doing):
I came home – home being this house and these dogs (and that damn cat) that do not belong to me, settled in with my stack of books and waited for the snow. Other than a brief panic long around cocktail hour when I couldn’t locate the corkscrew – although I did, crisis averted – everything went as planned. Snow started falling at 8pm. Town paralyzed soon after. I read and sipped petite syrah until about 1a.m. and then, to bed, where I stayed only until 4a.m. when Tess decided she HAD TO GO OUT DAMMIT.
Wow. They weren’t lying. There was at least a foot of snow by then. Tess – arthritic legs and all – braved it, while Gwen, considerably shorter and, you know, a Westie, thought she’d just glance outside and hold her pee until someone shoveled her a path. I don’t know who she thought that might be at 4a.m. but it sure as hell wasn’t me. Back to bed. Until 6a.m. when Tess – again – decided she wanted to take make my tired, old body get out from under the warm quilts to let her tired, old body traipse out into the snow. I gave up and stayed up and in the meantime have been reading (surprise) and seen some idiot get their car stuck on the street in front of the house – WHY WOULD YOU DRIVE A REGULAR CAR ON UN-PLOWED STREETS IN OVER A FOOT OF SNOW? – and been delighting in the fact that this snow is SO DEEP and MORE EXPECTED LATER that I will have no choice but to skip the gym, stay in and READ and EAT for – who knows how long. Like I said, privileged life. Lucky guy.
I’m not entirely heartless and sluggy-slothful however. I did shovel a path for Gwen.