Sunday, 23 January 2005 | Ratio

Snow was different in North Carolina. You could close the school system down and deplete the grocery stores of bread and milk simply by concentrating really hard on the word "snow." Once the word was out, everyone would respond by throwing their car keys away and huddling inside in order to build a fire and make soup or get drunk, while kids would run around outside and try in vain to make elegant snowmen out of the twenty-seven flakes that fell from the sky.

In New York, nothing closes or changes on account of snow, except that sidewalks are slippery and dirt is more visible. Unless there's a "blizzard," of course, like we had this weekend, in which case New York suddenly turns into scene from a trite Christmas card. Sidewalks are patiently scraped by friendly shovel-bearing citizens, kids drag each other through the streets on sleds and trashcan lids, cross-country skiers propel themselves through quiet intersections, and car windshields are wiped clean, chunk by chunk, as snowballs get packed and aggressively hurled at friends.

Today, while waiting at a bus stop, I watched a little kid in an inner tube get pulled down the sidewalk by her father, while she tearfully screamed, "I WANT TO GO HOME!" Also today, while waiting at a different bus stop, I watched an adult play with the snow using his feet—packing it and pushing it around, sliding his boots deep into a drift and admiring it as it formed the shapes he requested.