1967
Have you ever seen a newly built supermarket before its empty shelves have been stocked? Well, neither have I, though that's exactly what our neighborhood grocery store looked like by the time Will and I and Jack and Jill stood stock still in shock after entering the emporium's front door, because once we'd sauntered our way out of our apartments, down three flights of stairs and walked, leisurely through unshoveled, thigh high snow, we found that the early birds had cleaned the entire place out! OMG! We thought—so that's why people, we'd passed in the street, standing next to sleds, ladened with gallons of milk, loaves of bread, jars of peanut butter and jam, etc. etc., were holding up rectangular sheets of cardboard (upon which had been written, For Sale) in their greedy little mitts, suggestive of this fact: Along with the blizzard came black marketeers, which common sense suggests is to be expected once both sides of human nature is accepted as a given ... and as delivery trucks had been unable to drive along that otherwise busy thoroughfare for the last two days and as local traffic continued to remain at a standstill, it became clear that the store's depleted stock would not be replenished for at least a day or two longer, so families in need of perishables had no choice other than paying through the nose to feed growing children, whose mouths always seem to be as hungrily open as is true of baby birds.
So what do we do?
We walk home, pretty much empty handed, but not one spirit feels dejected, because having decided to pool whatever food we have left, all four of us rejoice in the fact that our adventurous sense of freedom from routine will continue until the flash frozen state of our great metropolis has thawed a bit more, so casting thoughts of returning to the grindstone to the winds, we four run upstairs, shed outer garments, here and there, and ransack both of our fridges and cabinet shelves while concocting a menu to satisfy our hunger for fun by putting our chefs' caps together and cooking up a smorgasbord of our own making. Following our sumptuous lunch, a Scrabble board appears after which we enjoy a creative dinner, followed by making short work of the dishes before eagerly donning our outer garments, again, and bundling up as warmly as possible, guess which four lunatics choose to wander out into the cold crisp, starlit wonderland with visions of hiking a mile with snow crunching under foot, in hopes of finding the local movie theater open and showing something half way decent (pre Google), because none of us can remember the last time we'd thrown caution to the winds and enjoyed a movie, midweek. And guess what? It actually is, as we'd hoped! Open! And we have no trouble finding four seats, together, because, Needless to say, the theater is empty ... And now, here comes the corker ...
Having offered us the freedom to frolick within our winter fairyland for four days and nights, our giant metropolis reawakens with need to plow at least one lane in each direction along the majority of major thoroughfares, which, no longer being completely snowbound, are about to free the imprisoned populous to resume their travails, concerning getting to and from work, school or wherever they feel need to go in slow-mo, of course. And though that's a good thing, each time Will and I, Jack and Jill listen to the nightly news, their green-eyed monsters have reason to glare jealously in my direction, over the next nine or ten days! Why?
While they must recommence the grueling nature of their frozen commutes to and from work, I remain snug as a bug in a rug, feeling fully insulated from being whipped about by icy blasts of wind while early mornings see each of them bent over, shovels in hand, working to dig our cars out from under unplowed snow banks or waiting for buses, which, having packed in far too many people to stop for even one more frozen sardine, are whizzing past bus stops where groups of commuters are seen praying for the next driver to stop and save their blood streams from freezing into rivers of ice. Then at the end of those days when Will, Jack and Jill are able to commute or drive themselves to their place of employment or school, my husband and friends find that reclaiming a park space at the end of the day proves so difficult as to induce people to place chairs outside in hopes of markedly reserving the same space, which they'd shoveled and vacated, early in the day. Interestingly, fighting the elements is akin to fighting basic instincts for this reason ... Mother Nature is a powerful creature! Also interesting is this fact: For some reason, in addition to greed, human nature called both camaraderie and generosity of spirit into play, because wherever those chairs had been placed to hold a parking place, that's where they were found at the end of day—pointing once again to balance in all things.
The fact that the giant metropolis had reawakened did not equate with city or suburban life resembling anything that felt normal for many weeks! And the surrealistic nature of our personal existence felt most especially shocking during the wee hours of that particular night when Will and I had been jarred awake by the booming sound of something crashing to the floor, which proved much too close to our bedroom to ignore, which is why I, in my football jersey, can be seen following close behind Will, through our darkened abode, only to find that a solidly plastered wall has unexpectedly sloughed straight to the kitchen floor, exposing bare red brick that shocks us senseless in the same way that underlying reasons, leading to unexpected meltdowns, may go unnoticed for quite some time before a relationship that's been unraveling 'seems' to fall suddenly, jarringly, utterly unexpectedly apart!
At any rate, Will, Jack and Jill battle the elements for at least a week and a half before my bed-snuggling-late-to-rise-spend-each-day-freely-choosing-to-do-exactly-as-I'd-please comes abruptly to an end, jarring me into accepting the cold hard fact that my trek to the bus stop, train station and second bus stop is about to resume, at which time, my wind-whipped nose will turn beet red red while my boots stomp around in the snow to keep my nylon hose from freezing to my bare legged bones, though nothing I do can stop frozen tears from stinging my cheeks when one fully packed bus after another fails to stop for this sardine, who'd feels solidly frozen, twice daily, right up to my gills. As you can imagine, my husband and two friends whoop it up on the evening when, instead of declaring my school district closed, yet again, the news anchor reported that which three pairs of ears had been waiting for days to hear: School district 3??? , which has been closed for two weeks, will open, tomorrow!
As to why schools throughout my district have been the last to open? Well, the suburb where I'd taught fifth grade had never felt need of purchasing super expensive snow plow equipment. In fact, up until the big hibernation of '67, the governing body of my suburb had economically chosen to borrow the like after neighboring suburban towns had dug themselves out. Needless to say, after schools, businesses and residents had experienced being shut ins for two entire weeks, the blizzard that broke the camel's back spurred serious action in which split second change had need to take place; I mean this was January, and winters in the Midwest are known to encroach upon Spring!
At any rate, that winter storm created a lasting change to take place in our apartment as well as in the apartment, next door ...
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