Snowy Enclosure
It is early on a Saturday morning and the world is still fast asleep. Outside, through the bare winter branches, there is a pale tinge of pink, a promise of sunrise. I have come down for some tea. I sit at the kitchen table waiting for it to brew. The old clock on the wall is steadily ticking the time away, just like it did when I was young and my children were young and the world was vital and exciting to me…
We have seriously entered into winter. We have had a couple of snowfalls. The weather is brisk and sometimes downright frigid. Perhaps we shall soon get heavy snow on the ground.
Yesterday as I sat by the living room window looking out, my mind wandered to years gone by. It began to snow and wouldn’t stop. It snowed and snowed and snowed. It blanketed the whole world in a coat of white silence. We tried to look out of the windows, but unless you were quite tall, you could only see a screen of thick snow. Our poor dog, Max, whimpered in distress, but finally accepted the fact that he would have to dig a path out to relieve himself. Peter and I could only scoop the snow that fell into the house as we opened the door. He very quickly did what he had to do and came back in. We waited with big heavy towels to dry him.
Sasha, our cat, prowled around the house restlessly but finally curled up into a little ball on our bed. Peter was quite happy falling asleep next to her, snoring gently. I sat in front of the television to see what they were saying about this snowstorm. They were inundated and it would take quite a while for them to rid the city of all that snow. They were not prepared for its severity. I was prepared. I had a phobia of revolutions. I still do. I am well stocked with everything. You name it, I have it. I have flour, sugar, oil, detergent, soap, shampoo, flashlights, etc. etc. I have anything you can imagine and then some more! Peter always teased me, ‘We are in America, Stella. We do not have revolutions here!’ I would answer, ‘You never know!’
The first day was quite a lovely day. We had our music on and the fireplace was filled with the glow and warmth of the burning logs. I made some hearty soup and scones to have with our coffee. We snuggled together on the sofa looking out of the window at the snow or at the fire in the hearth. Our pets were snuggled together also by the fireplace. The logs would snap once in a while as some sparks flew and startled the contented cat and dog. It was a perfect stolen moment from our busy everyday lives. We went to bed early thinking the morrow would bring us back to normalcy. But, no! It was still snowing and there was no sign of any snow plows. The novelty was beginning to grow thin.
During the night, Sasha had wandered around the house. She was about nine or ten months old and full of mischief. She went to the powder room downstairs. She tried jumping from on top of the toilet seat onto the window ledge to look out. I had a few knick-knacks arranged there. She lost her footing. With a yowl and a big crash, she startled us all out of a deep sleep! Max was the first to reach her. We followed closely behind him. There she was trying to get out of the toilet bowl! Between her indignant meowing and Max’s excited barking, the rose bush outside rubbing against the window and the wind howling, there was quite a commotion at that ungodly hour of the night!
With a disgusted look on his face, Peter picked Sasha up by the scruff of her neck and put her into the bathtub upstairs. I sat on the edge of the tub, with my flannel nightgown hiked up above my knees, began shampooing her. The cat was agitated and scratched me several times, meowing indignantly at the top of her voice. Max was howling with her in sympathy. Peter, standing behind me, made constant commentaries, ‘Watch out!’ ‘She’s scratching you!’ ‘Oh my God! I cannot believe this!’ On and on they all went, while I tried to keep my wits about me and prevent further injuries upon my poor self.
Finally, Sasha was clean. Peter handed me a towel. I swaddled her snuggly and held her to me. ‘Shh, shh my pussy cat,’ I murmured. ‘Okay Peter, okay Max. Out! Out!’ I firmly ordered them. I closed the door behind them. I rubbed Sasha dry then placed her on the bathroom mat. I then blow-dried her with the hairdryer, gave myself a shower, and once more we retired to bed. This time Sasha crept underneath the covers between Peter and myself and fell peacefully asleep. We all did.
The next day it stopped snowing. Peter opened up a pathway from the back door for Max. We played music, we lit a fire in the fireplace. I cooked, we ate, we read and stared out of the window, hoping for a snow plow to come clear the street and let us out. We were beginning to get stir-crazy. No hope of that! We watched TV to see how the rest of New York was faring. We got bored and finally fell into an uneventful sleep.
The third morning before we even opened up our eyes, we heard the snowplows rumbling down our street. Quickly we jumped out of bed and dressed. We fed the animals and ourselves. Peter shoveled a path to the garage and took out the snowblower. All the neighborhood was outside. We all greeted each other as if we hadn’t seen each other in years. There was the sound of snow shovels and snowblowers. There was the sound of children’s laughter and dogs frolicking in the snow joyously. Afterwards Peter, Max, and I walked in the tracks of the snowplow for hours. We stopped and spoke to people we did not know. Everyone was polite and happy after that period of snowy confinement. It was exhilarating and it was beautiful. What would we do without our pleasant memories?
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