ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO

Snow falls as fast as from a newly opened box of Kelloggs’ Corn Flakes.Each crispy yellow bite is smaller than the white, cold ones dropping endlessly on Baltimore. The wind twirls them in merry whirlpools at bare grey maple limbs. They pile on top of each other until their support bends, bows, and sends them tumbling to earth. There is no sound as the arms receive another load of cold.

I sit at my picture window, wrapped in one of the heavy, colorful afghans I have knitted over the years. The panorama that entrances me is like an old silent film. A small wren lands on Charlie Chaplain’s shoulder. He doffs his derby and the bird flies away. Ben Turpin’s eyes miraculously uncross as he walks towards Charlie. Arm in arm they walk out of sight.

Looking up, the sky is iced like a gigantic birthday cake. It’s overstuffed with more snow. How much can it hold before it all comes down so the sun can show its sunny yellow face again?

T.V. is still working. Snow trucks are not yet able to do so. The weather channel warns of a 24" fall. Impossible, I think...but the report is right and I am wrong. Our two teens are restless, beg me, to let them go outside to organize the biggest snowball fight in the world. My ‘No’ is meaningless. My husband’s ‘Not yet,’ is law. They read, play cards, start a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle on the kitchen table. That gives me no choice but set up a light dinner in the dining room.

I sit down at window and continue to watch the snow fall. My attention is drawn elsewhere, yet all I see is snow. There is no kitchen, no fireplace, just snow. ‘Daniel,’ I scream. ‘I can’t see. Everything is white. Help!’ ‘’Get away from the damn window now. Dorothy.’ You are snow blind. Get away now.’ He comes to my side, takes my hand and leads me to our basement where there are no windows. There is one light in the laundry room and that is where he puts a chair for me. I lean on the ironing board. ‘Keep your eyes closed, Dot, not squeezed tight, just normally. I listen to my doctor husband but still see white snow flakes. It takes about twenty minutes until normalcy returns. I was scared, really scared I was blind.

I closed the heavy living room, dining room drapes, pulled the cotton kitchen curtains across the pole so I would not be tempted to watch the snow again. My boys opened it. ‘Close the curtain, Boys,’ Daniel orders and they are closed at once.

Gray snow clouds had made day into night, a long night. They are gone in the morning and that sunny sun peeps out. I wear sunglasses to ease the glare and decide then and there that when I want to see an old silent film with Charley Chaplin, Buster Keaton, I’m using Netflix.