The past couple of weeks, I have naively thought that spring would be right around the corner, almost sure the “worst” of winter had already come. But as I type this, I am watching heavy snowflakes fall outside my 12 ft windows, accumulating into what the local news weathermen can now confidently call a blizzard. Apparently, Old Man Winter, things are not over between us quite yet…
But, in all honesty, for as much as I will hate all of the snow tomorrow and in the following days (but most of all in the coming weeks, when the plowed piles become dirty, unwanted, disfigured reminders of something that used to be beautiful), I will enjoy it now as it covers the city of Camden, creating a temporary peace and serenity that can’t be replicated by even the most beautiful spring day. I guess that’s the nature of the season: something about the cold and darkness of winter makes you take everything in more fully, more completely than in the warmer months when it’s easy to ignore the details and just relish in the bigger picture of sunshine and blue skies. As noted in the Counting Crows song (and hence, the blog title), “I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her.”
Tonight was a good blizzard night. After an unexpected long delay in my commute home from work, D picked me up at the station (“my” station, which is finally open again, after–yet another–water main break on Cooper. Hooray for not having to hoof it/drive to Walter Rand anymore!) and we decided to indulge in the craving for sushi. I’m not quite sure why either one of us thought this was a good idea–or didn’t consider that the terrible weather/road conditions might make this trek a bit more arduous–or better yet, why we did consider this and still made the drive to Cherry Hill anyway, but it happened.
Granted, it was a slow trek, but still an enjoyable one. For as nerve-wracking as it can be to be on the roads when they are in such horrible condition (which they most definitely were–we were never sure if we were fully in one lane because you couldn’t see the lines on the road), it’s also kind of fun/exciting: it’s like experiencing something that has become so secondary to you in a whole new way. Suddenly, instead of just driving down 70, only half interested/aware of the things we pass every single day, we’re forced to slow down, to take notice of everything, every car, every business, every intersection, suddenly alive to the fact that they exist, only when they are being buried in the snow. I almost felt like we were some kind of pioneers–out to explore a territory not unfamiliar, but not completely known. It certainly gave dinner at one of the old standbys a considerably more exciting flare.
The restaurant was open, surprisingly, with other customers, surprisingly, also there. After some time, however, we decided to pack up the rest of our meal to-go as we watched the snow continue to pile on top of our car. By the time we left, which was no more than 30-40 minutes after we arrived, we (ie, Donnie) had to clear of the dash of the car and free up the windshield wipers, which were so covered in snow, they wouldn’t even move when turned on.
After a quick pit stop at Wawa for essentials (a pack of smokes and a milkshake), we made our way home, peeled off our wet outer layers and made our way to our friends’ apartment around the corner. It was nice to drink some wine and shoot the shit like that on a weekday, when we all knew we’d either be off the next day or at least able to head into work late. We hung out for a few hours before deciding to call it a night, but not before making a pact for a snow day trip to Cracker Barrel (Oh CB, how I love you so..).
And now here I am, wrapped in a warm blanket, listening to Ben Folds while the snow falls outside… So, alright, Winter, sir, maybe you can stay just a little longer–at least for one more night. But if you don’t pack your bags by February, we’re going to have some serious trouble.