I remember my Uncle Cooney stopping by to say hello to my mom and dad on February 5th, 1967. Before he left, he winked at me and said, "Snow tomorrow. Better go find your mittens."

I did, and it did. Sixteen inches of snow blanketed everything, as far as the eye could see. Cars were identifiable only by the taller bumps of snow in regular intervals. Several streets were hidden behind huge drifts of snow.

It was wonderful.

I have flashback memories of getting pulled along on a sled with my brother. I believe it was my father towing us down the center of the road. Kids were having snowball fights everywhere. Climbing a snowdrift, only to sink down and get stuck. My brother yanking on my arms to get me out, until an adult came along and rescued me. Drinking warm cocoa made with real milk in a saucepan, not hot water and a dry powder in a paper packet. 

The roads were unpassable for days. My parents were pissed at the Mayor of New York for not clearing the roads, but there was nowhere to push the snow out of the way. The kids didn't care. My brother was in kindergarten, but he had several days off due to the storms.

I remember sitting on a bed in our apartment, curled up on a pillow near the whistling radiator, watching the lights come on all along the street. It reminded me of Christmas, and I smiled and curled up warm next to the window, watching Brooklyn go to sleep under a blanket of snow. It was one of the quietest nights I've experienced.


A Nodeshell Rescue

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