suslik

I have alerted my friend that the mysterious potential roommate that she was dealing with was none other than the famed Craigslist wire transfer scammer. It was obvious once we read up on it and went over the emails. She was a very short step away from being had. I am so proud and glad that I casually asked her: so, how the roommate search is going—and helped her uncover this scam.

yup. getting back into it.

So, it turns out that if you as much as open a little crack in the door of your heart, playful life will rush in and swoop your soul in Its arms and kiss you all over. We adults keep our hearts heavily guarded against joy. Here is what happens when you let your guard down just a little:

Snowfall in the evening, people rushing home, protecting their faces with scarves, their heads with umbrellas. The train station beckons from across the street. All I have to do is open the heavy lobby door, cross the street and go down the stairs.

In the middle of the street, my soul rebels. The snow smell! the crystalline air! I allow myself one concession: we’ll walk to the next stop, I tell the little kid inside my heart.

As I walk through the snowfall, I can’t keep from tasting the miraculous fluff piling up everywhere. I notice, too, that it is super sticky, made for sculpting—you squeeze it in your glove and out comes a spiky fish shape! I eat it as I consider all that can be done with snow like this.

A deserted Washington Square Park lies between me and my destination—I make the joyful shortcut.

And that’s when winter presents me with a gift: some planters that look like cupcakes. I come closer to take a picture with my phone, and then I notice the next gift: a picnic table covered with a luxurious 5 inch thick blanket of the stickiest snow I have seen in the longest time.

Home can wait, I decide. What will my husband and kids say if they knew what I am doing? Actually, they would cheer me on. So I quickly get to work.

Sweep, pile, squeeze, poke. Roll. I am making a horned satyr face with bulging eyes, protruding nose and beard, staring into the sky.

Occasional passers-by hurry past. Suddenly I notice that someone is making their way toward me. It’s a timid, tall teenager with a shy smile. He is watching me put my finishing touches on the demon face.

What are you doing?

I just love snow, I chuckle as I work.

I have never seen snow before, he says. I am from Jamaica, this is my first winter in New York.

The only thing I can do with snow is throw snowballs at my friends, he says.

You mean you have never made a snowman? or a snow angel?

What’s a snow angel?

I can show you how to make one. But you have to do it with me.

I dont have gloves, he says.

But you don’t need gloves to make snow angels. You make them with your body, in the snow.

What?! Lay down in this stuff! Will I get wet?!

I laugh and assure him that he will be fine. He hedges a bit, I say, this is your chance. Finally he says: I won’t be chicken! lets make some angels.

So, we walk over to the open field of snow and a minute later there are two; four; six snow angels singing praises in the park. My young friend loves it. We take turns brushing each other’s coats off. He thanks me, I wish him luck, and leave for the station.

The whole detour took half an hour by the clock. The most vibrant, delightful half an hour of my day.