Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow — or not

February 4, 2022 William A. Gralnick

William Gralnick. Photo courtesy of William Gralnick

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Oh, I loved it when it snowed. Like Snoopy, I’d catch the flakes on my tongue. It was a pain to put on all that heavy clothing, but truth be told I only had to stand still. My mother did the heavy lifting. The first sound of snow? The metallic clicking of the metal straps on my galoshes. I guess because it signaled that the next thing would be throwing open the door and plunging into the winter wonderland. Sorry, I missed a step. That was my mother going over my body like the final check of the space shuttle to make sure that not a draft nor a flake could penetrate my armor. The final product was a snowman without the snow.

We had two modes of motion. If the snow was deep enough, we’d take a garbage can cover to the park. It had to be deep enough, so the handle did scrape the ground. Of course, we could take a sled. The sled was good for both kinds of snow. Sledding had some mathematics in it. Remember learning to ride a bike and then forgetting that you had to calculate how and where to turn? A sled was trickier. It had handles in the front, but they turned the runners only so far, as in not very. If you wanted to change lanes, so to speak, or more importantly, miss something looming in front of you, you had to have your eyes peeled and start your calculation early. In a panic, if you turned the handles too hard and fast, in a panic, you could end up in the snow, tossed aside by the sled, which you now had to chase down the hill. Or that panic could be the realization that you were going to hit the tree or rock you were trying to miss. The best strategy was to bail out and hope something would remain of the sled instead of its remains. If it was a rock, the now much lighter sled would scoot over it, and you again were chasing it down the hill.

One year we went up to Ticonderoga. Up by the famous Fort on Lake Champlain, it was snow heaven. We went tobogganing. That is a whole ‘nother kettle of fish (frozen, of course). Several people sit on this flat board that has a curl in its front, theoretically to keep the snow and whatever else out of your eyes. Goggles work better. Compared to a toboggan, a sled is a Model T. Compared to a sled, a toboggan is a rocket ship. And because several people are on it, their weight gives it speed. It has neither handles nor rudder. Because the wood is the only thing between your butt and the ground, you feel everything in extremis. I thought I saw a sign at the entrance, “Abandon all hope ye who enter…”

Toboggans elicit the same effect as roller coasters. Except on ’coasters, it’s what you see that makes you scream. On a toboggan, it’s that you can’t see that makes you scream. At some point, one wonders how the dickens this thing gets stopped. A successful stop turns on the guy’s ability who changes the angle of the run so that eventually, you are no longer zooming down but gradually going up. I think I remember a snow barrier, for a just in case. I’m pretty sure that if it breached the barrier, they’d still be chasing us.

You might be thinking this yarn came to mind because of the snowstorms that just hit Brooklyn. Not at all. In fact, it was someone who reminded me of the day it snowed in Miami and hearing the weatherman say it might just happen again. While this and other stories popped into my mind, so did this thought. Yes, buildings emptied as people downtown left their desks and rushed to the elevators and onto the street. In the “subs,” it was the same thing. Homemakers threw on whatever was handy and ran out into the street.

Everyone had their tongues out. You might think that was for catching those one-of-a-kind crystals. Nope, again. Remember, this was Miami circa 1960. Everyone thought or hoped that a cocaine shipment had blown up and your tongue was the gateway to the Magic City. Ba da boom! By the way, my now longtime preference is not snow.