Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Let It Snow!

New York is a Christmas Kind of Town today, my friends. Jack Frost and his Mother Nature along with Frosty the Snowman and the rest of the snow brigade managed a stealth overnight visit as I slumbered, my dog's paws tangled in my hair, tail resting neatly along my face depositing a nest of thick, black hairs inside my mouth.

We awoke to a winter wonderland. Industrial Williamsburg, Brooklyn transformed into a land of snowy enchantment. Pristine drifts of snow covered graffiti scarred bricks and blackened sidewalks like a freshly laundered goose down comforter. Bundled up commuters hopscotched through slushy streets, brightly colored scarves billowing in the wind like foreign flags. All the while vehicles puttered through soupy roads, throwing out enourmous wakes befitting a professional waterskier. Baby blue sky and butter yellow sun set the entire scene ablaze in white light.

Snooooow! Max and I excitedly geared up and set out for McCarren Park a mere six blocks away. An hour later we arrived, huffing and puffing.. and panting as the case may be. Our breath billowed into the air like the steam from the Cup-O-Noodle in Times Square.

It's the quest to avoid soggy socks that eats up the time. One must strategize sidewalk steps, bobbing and weaving, stretching and leaping to clear potholes filled to the brim.

While laser focus is required for the obstacle course on the ground, one must be ever vigilant of dripping awnings and sweating icicles hanging nefariously from building ledges, taking aim on the unwitting passersby below.

We grin at each other, my adopted black son and I, because we know what is to come. The white stuff scares away the usual park dwellers. Those do-good joggers, the school skippers, the doddering elderly dragging along dirty, angry poodles and the bored housewives who languidly push plastic wrapped strollers in an effort to inject a little outside time into the feeding, diapering schedule.

We have the park to ourselves. Which means one thing: OFF LEASH. Max waits, shivering in anticipation until I unclip the annoying tether that binds him to me, a plodding biped.

Like a fired bullet he's gone. Within seconds I spot him off in the distance, a black blur streaking toward a mighty oak - a known squirrel hangout. For the next hour we run through the heavy snow, dancing and prancing in the frosty air as the Empire State looks on, her majestic head wreathed in cottonball clouds.

When we can run no more, when our legs are giving out, when our lungs are burning in the chill air, when the snow has infiltrated every fold and crease of clothing or fur, I reluctantly clip Max back into his leash and head for the obstacle course of snow, ice and water that is Berry Street.

Reader Comments (3)

This is beautifully written! I love the part about the do-gooders and school skippers, and bored housewives... cause I see them everywhere!
December 10, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterEmily
I loved the way this was written (present tense and word choices), and the way it just ended so abruptly.

Great job.

December 13, 2005 | Unregistered CommenterPLD
that is just beautiful!!! You write like no other person I know, but I do know you, gave birth to you, and yes I'm bragging that you are my girl. (squishy squishy mushy mush) oh how I know that you hate that kind of talk!! tee-hee
December 16, 2005 | Unregistered Commentermama

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