Where are the Snow Days of Yesteryear?

[ellenkushner]

Time was, a Snow Day in NYC meant tromping out through the storm in our rubber boots to the little store on the corner of 110th/B'way where they sold nips to bums, beer to students, and big jugs of cheap Italian red to us, which we took home and mulled, dipping into the hot pot on the beaten up old gas stove all day . . . the only sound was the chains on the tires of the buses down 110th St, jingling like sleigh bells so if you lay on the livingroom floor (the ratty chaise longue being occupied, and the sofa nothing to speak of) you could imagine it was horses . . . .

You could take a day off from work in those days, because work was outside and annoying. But now that dreams have come true and work is staying home writing, well... At least there's no reason to go out. I will make a pot of my mother's Split Pea Soup. I will edit stories for Welcome to Borderland. I will do my revisions on our The Witches of Lublin script for Yale & Elizabeth (we read the whole thing through by phone Tues. night).

And we've got the wine, if we can fit it in.....

Comments

[ellen-kushner.livejournal.com]

I know! Believe me, I'm not trying to play the world's tiniest violin, here - and I hope it doesn't come across that way! It's more a sense of: "What do I have to do to be Wicked, here, folks?"

[jay-of-lasgalen.livejournal.com]

I like the ratty chaise longue being occupied as well - by Alec?

[ellen-kushner.livejournal.com]

You didn't think I'd made it up, did you?

It was covered in a particularly nasty ochre burlap, and left with a particularly nasty roommate. But not before it was immortalized in literature.