The Snowy Day

Perhaps it goes back to my love of the Ezra Jack Keats classic, which I read over and over as a child, and then as an adult reading to my children. I have always loved snow. I moved back from L.A. to New York in my 30s because I grew weary of getting depressed watching east coast blizzards on the west coast evening news. In fact, I keep my emotional barometer calibrated to three constants that have persisted all my life. Airplanes. Spaghetti. And snow! Update:  I'm feeling pretty darned toasty, today. 

Berkeley Place. Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Seventh Avenue, Brooklyn.

Q train to Manhattan.

Shake Shack open for business. 

Broadway and 25th.

Madison Square Park.

And then of course, after all the talk and build-up and excitement that comprises a New York "snow event," the sky lifts, nightfall comes, the temperature drops, and it's over. By the next morning, New Yorkers will be going about their business. "Cyclonic bomb?" What bomb? It was just...a snowy day.

Why not an artsy foreign film?

Back home in Brooklyn.