I've had many a love-hate relationship with the season known as winter.
First, I experienced the ruthless bora that blew each winter with merciless consistency on the carso of Italy's Adriactic coast. No central heating there.
Then I somehow voluntarily ended up in the middle of Indiana (the 'frozen tundra') where the five foot high snow walls of 2000 made my first semester at Notre Dame something to...remember. No central heating there either.
Onto New York City - not only is it cold, the streets and avenues serve as perfect wind tunnels to ensure you are freezing no matter where you attempt to hide. Still, no central heating.
Here in London, where I cherish our little Victorian split-level maisonette despite, yes, its lack of central heating, I have been pleasantly surprised by the moderate weather until at approximately noon yesterday, while the sun was shining and the day was dry, it suddenly started to snow. And now it's 14:20 the next day, and it still hasn't stopped. We have gotten 7 inches and another 5 to 10 are forecasted.
I'm generally not thrilled by cold weather or copious amounts of snow (especially when it becomes "snirt"), but this morning when I looked out the window, I have to admit, it kind of took my breath away.
Last night a neighborhood snowball fight broke out at midnight. This morning we've heard nothing but giggling, running and consequent thumping as the kids and their parents are out at it again. As for the Ciardiellos: we've spent this crisp winter morn - yes, Matt got to stay home from work - sitting in bed, sipping our coffees leisurely and enjoying this, one of those rare moments in modern city life where everyone gets to stop and say: to hell with it, I'm staying home and enjoying the snow.
It's a cold, cold beauty, but a beauty nonetheless.
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