Winter Wonderland

I went to NYC last month for a conference and ended up snowbound. When the storm hit, the flights were cancelled, and I jumped a train to Mt. Kisco to be rescued by Mark Mayhew and to stay with him and Karen in Armonk. The train rolled past lots of places with many memories...Fordham where my brother went to college...Woodlawn where my father would catch the train to NYC when we lived in the Bronx...Bronxville where I was born (Bronxville Hospital) and the bar scene that always involved the Christophers...Crestwood, residences of many a Tooth and home of the Nugents for many years...Hartsdale, home of Maria Regina, my alma mater...White Plains, home of St. Bernards, Stepinac mixers, and 19 Herbert Avenue (family home from 1955 to 1989)... Valhalla, site of the dam and times of debauchery. In retrospect, I realize how lucky I was to grow up with parents who had no more than a high school education, but still managed to succeed and build a life for their family. The years of St. Bernard's, Maria Regina, and vacations from college in NY were golden years, and it is always magical to revisit them. This time was no exception. Mark and Karen bought 20+ acres in Armonk 20 years ago when hardly anything was there, atop one of the high points, and it is beautiful in any season, but the snow, for me, living in 70 and sunny LA, provided a safe coccon to escape into a winter wonderland.  We lost power for three days, which made it all the more fun (for me)--no heat, no power, no running water.  Just snow, up to my knees.  The trees, which are everywhere, where just saturated with snow, and it was a world of whiteness.  I trucked through the forest with Sadie, a redbone coonhound, trying to shake the snow off the trees because there was so much that branches were breaking everywhere.  I was remembering times in White Plains on Herbert Avenue when I was in grammar school and the adventures of playing in the snow, sleighriding at the Highlands school--I had not seen so much snow since those days.  We stayed warm enough with a fire and down comforters.  I was reminded that the best of times are often those that are unplanned, with no expectations--they just unfold before you.  The magic ingredient is always good friends, and old friends who knew you when are always the best of friends.  While Mother Nature wrecked havoc in some regards for many, for me, I was simply grateful.  It was a great start to my year of turning 60.