New York

I've had New York on my mind lately. Perhaps it was the tv reports of record snowfalls this past weekend. It was reported that 27" of snow fell in Central Park. All week I've had these memory scenes flashing through my mind.

Snow in NYC is not very common. Though it may snow a few times during the course of winter, there is rarely any substantial accumulation because the amount of traffic on the roads and the heat caused by the subways beneath the sidewalks and streets melts the snow faster than it can fall.

I remember how exciting it would be to have snow, especially a big snow, on a weekend day. The city would become quiet. Road traffic would lessen, fewer people would be out on the streets, and there would be an air of neighborliness from smiling passers by.

I remember a particular Saturday night when I was living on West 83rd Street. It had started to snow about 8 P.M., and reports said it would snow all night long. I went out at about 10 P.M., me and dozens of my neighbors, walking the four blocks to the corner of W.79th and Broadway to wait for the Sunday New York Times to be thrown from a truck in front of the newstand. I stopped at Zabars on my way and picked up treats for the next morning. It was packed. Upper West Siders were stocking up on gourmet fare in the hopes that they would be snow bound the next day. I knew from the anticipated looks on everyones face that, like me, they would grab the 8" thick newspapers and return to the warmth of our homes, with everything we needed to be happy tucked under our arms.

Waking on Monday mornings after an accumalted snow fall was never a treat. Snow brown with street dirt, piled on the corners, slushy or icy and slippery, the snow would no longer be fun or pretty. I remember those days as being dangerous for me (major fear of falling and breaking bones), and ugly and grumpy. I hated the dirty snow, the dog urine stains getting larger each day. The garbage piled up, the sidewalks blocked. It was awful.

I sometimes wonder if I would like living in NYC again. I know I would be in better physical shape. You walk so much in NY, you almost stay in shape by default. I was forced to climb several flights of stairs daily, in and out of the subway, and upstairs to my office. There are book stores and restaurants on second floors with no elevators, theatres with screening rooms with stair access only, etc. One is forced to walk, no matter what you want to do. If you are in a wheel chair the city is immediately cut into a fraction of itself when limited to disabled accessibility.

I think of the crowds, and the dirt, and the noise, and wonder if I would be able to deal with that again. I know right off that I don't want to. I don't dream of or desire to move back to the city. I think if I won the lottery I would want to buy a little condo so I could pop in and out and have a place to stay. Whenever I think of going to NY to visit the only thing I can think of doing while there is going to art museums and galleries. This coming October, the person who I think is America's greatest living artist, Brice Marden, is having a retrospective at MOMA. I want to go. I will probably do everything I can to go, even if it means flying up in the morning, taking a cab to the museum, seeing the show, then heading back to the airport and home, all in the same day. It's the only thing that's come along in 10 years that I think is worth the effort and expense.

The nice thing about memories is that they don't have to be realities. Not today. So while the record snowfall prompted warm memories, it only takes about 30 seconds for all the reasons I left NY to coming creeping into the picture.