Brief Reports from Underneath the Terrifying Snowstorm that Paralyzed NYC at the Beginning of 2014.

3 Jan

The snow is currently up to my 10th Floor window. I’m not sure I can get to the kitchen any longer.


Broke up the contemporary corner curio cabinet behind the sofa but it is not burning well so I am using the tinder to shore up the walls of the snow tunnel I dug out to access the bathroom.


It’s a little hard to tell, but I think the cast of PIPPIN just crawled out of the Music Box Theatre. They’re heading south, except for the swings. And let me tell you, not a single one of them is dressed for this kind of weather.


Ma just told me to run out and open the stalls so’s Feckless and Hopeless won’t be trapped. We’ll be without milk or eggs (Feckless is talented) for the foreseeable future.


The muffled screams of those trapped below in the drifts sound like the faux conversations my siblings and I would have under the water in the cove of the Atlantic where we’d summer. Another ruined memory.


The super just told our floor the windows may not hold before he jettisoned up to the roof to be helicoptered away. Some of the tenants yelled “Grab him!” but I can’t imagine a helicopter will get very far in the middle of this nightmare. I undercut their anger with a mild, “Bless you!” and returned to my apartment. I’m stacking sweaters up against the south windows.


I’m not sure if these messages are getting out as the electricity went down some twenty minutes ago. I hooked the computer up to the piano and it seems to be working if I play Mozart’s Turkish Rondo very quickly. But I don’t play well by candlelight. The list of things that are Baroque around here anymore…


Must. Keep. Moving.


I’m concerned the freeze in here will delay the stench of death. If you don’t hear from me every ten minutes, alert the authorities?


I was hoping to add ventriloquism to my tours of NYC. As my face is now frozen, crisis has turned into opportunity. I’m using the only sock I’m not wearing as a puppet. I’ve named him Tootoo. He is hilarious!


There is a singular quiet my city assumes newly blanketed as it is in a carpet of glistening magic, purity for the moment, each snowflake unique as each New Yorker, as though each of us were assigned our own particle of delight, an artful exquisiteness to buffet the cruelties of a dark season and the gray skyscrapers whose harsh lines are now softened by nature’s whitewash fleeting and lovely.

This is the delirium that precedes Stage-3 hypothermia.


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I see angels. Snow angels. Everywhere. They are spectacular! They are beckoning me towards the dawn.

I don’t trust them.



6 Responses to “Brief Reports from Underneath the Terrifying Snowstorm that Paralyzed NYC at the Beginning of 2014.”

  1. Joanna Underhill January 3, 2014 at 10:51 AM #


    • NC Coot January 3, 2014 at 2:40 PM #

  2. ikroot January 3, 2014 at 3:00 PM #

    It’s been more than 10 minutes since you posted this, and now – not a word. Not sure which authorities to notify. Police? National Guard? The Stage Manager from the Music Box?

    • NC Coot January 3, 2014 at 3:49 PM #

      I stepped on the head of the Stage Manager of the Music Box this morning in search of bread. I’m licensed with the Department of Consumer Affairs. I’d start there, with thanks.

  3. Dugutigui January 25, 2014 at 6:52 AM #

    This graphic post is the proof that nothing burns like the cold.
    With my breath, I’ll exhale my friendship for you, so being a cold day, you can see what you meant to me.
 Remember friendship, and warmth will come.

    • NC Coot February 4, 2014 at 12:31 AM #

      Remembering you, D., with gratitude and indeed, warmth.

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