Betwixt and between

It's a cold early Sunday, post-Nemo here in Providence RI.  I'm on the 12th floor of a residency building, built around the time I was last working/living here, I believe, in the late 70's, mid-80's.  It has a comfy, yet sterile look.  My apartment is white and beige, a bit antiseptic, bringing color into this environment is up to you.  Cats, cat toys and roosts, plants and flowers, books help.  The outside is now an extension of the same color scheme, save the tender pale blue of the sky.  From where I roost, it looks as if the city is pretty well dug out.  The interstate is flowing smoothly, pavement seen, all's well.  But I got a phone call from a friend in Pawtucket last night that said his neighborhood hasn't been plowed yet, they're still under 2 plus feet of snow.  He reports that the state was so overwhelmed by the amount of snow that they had to job out for private contractors to keep the major streets clean.  Vermont, at least our piece of it, seems to have fared better.  A substantial fall, but not crippling, all taken in stride.  Richard's on his way down for an extended stay today, both the Dartmouth Coach and Amtrak are up and running after an enforced hiatus.  I'm in Providence doing "Crime and Punishment" at Trinity Rep and for the past 2 nights the play has been cancelled.  I felt it was a no brainer that, of course, the 2 performances today would be done, but with the news of neighborhoods still buried, it doesn't seem as likely as I thought.

Still, still, it's gorgeous out.  My friend and fellow cast mate, Rachel, and I ventured out last night around 6, ostensibly to go to a movie at the Cable Car Cinema whose doors were gated and shut tight when we arrived.  So it was the journey itself that was the delight and not the destination.  Some sidewalks were clear, clean cake-sliver cuts in the snow to show how high the fall had gone; up to my knee at least, in other parts even higher with drifting.  The best way to walk, the clearest way, were the streets, where the tamped down snow was tattooed with swirly tire indentations, like ancient messages worthy of a Werner Herzog documentary.  Just being out in it, the bracing fresh air, the flocked trees, flocked light posts, flocked everything, raised the glee factor.  We giggled and laughed and patted our gloved hands together, dodging oncoming plows.  There were fellow travelers in similar spirits, curious, happy to be out.  And there were the workmen, toiling away at the mounds of white stuff.  We turned up one side street near City Hall alive with the ratchety whirr of a snow blower and came upon a Matterhorn of blown and plowed snow blocking the street. Obviously this was a dumping ground from the other streets and we marvelled and wowed it as we passed.  (An hour or so later we revisited to find that the mountain had been moved to Mohammed.)  Westminster Street, Rachel's favorite, had stringed lights up and above down the center of the street, not illuminated, but flocked and the whole street, somewhat deserted, evoked the final scenes of "It's A Wonderful Life" and Jimmy Stewart slip sliding with joy past the Savings and Loan.  A bicycle stood frozen, encased up to its icy leather seat, like a cave man being thawed out after millennia.  There were some businesses open, a couple bars and restaurants, and their windows glowed with warmth and inviting camaraderie.  As we came out on the river, the city opened up and I looked back at its silhouette against the starlit sky.  I like Providence's look.  Nothing overly showy, but with smart clean lines, sharp, Tim Gunn comes to mind.  We'd hoped to see a collection of Oscar nominated short films at the Cable Car and were momentarily bummed when we saw it was shut, but spirits quickly revivied - "It's just nice being out!!" - and we shifted to window shopping for a while, and then veered down an icy cement stairway for an alternate route back "home."  That's when we discovered - was it The Colonial Tap?  A place Rachel told me was usually hopping at this time on Saturday night.  Its large parking lot was almost deserted save for an SUV crunching its way in and a lone individual sweeping at the door.  The lights were on, it looked promising, so why not?  "A toddy!" Rachel announced and since I'd never had a toddy before and was game for most anything, I followed her lead.  We chuckled our way over the mountain range of snow between us and the inn, toddling into our forbears footprints, trying our best to avoid avalanches of the cold white stuff down inside our boots.  Victory!  We shook ourselves off, shucked our coats and scarves, and sat at the bar with 6 other swaddled folk who were bemoaning the woes of shoveling and the ick of it all.  A couple of ale quaffing mates came in and out of view in the wide doorway of the next room, alternately playing a game of pool and throwing darts at a board. The place was in a basement really, encased in brick, and had a speakeasy/dive feel to it.  Our bartender was a curious fellow, kind and clean, but wearing a coverall denim get up that looked as if he might toss in a transmission change on your car after he fixed your drink.  He hadn't made many toddies in his day, but was willing to try.  They were terrific.  "Sorry, no cinammon sticks," he apologized, but he'd taken great care to put 3 whole cloves in a lemon slice and set down plenty of honey and sugar for our enjoyment.  We warmed with the citrusy, honeyed bolt of alcohol in our veins and our conversation glowed and bounced in contrast to the hum of weather complaints continuing just down the bar from us.  No matter.  I could have easily had another, we both acknowledged the Salome dance inside us beckoning yet one more, but wisdom won out and back into the cold we went, the holiday spirit reignited.  It was fun.  The whole jaunt.  Out for an icy walk with a friend, enjoying the rich bon homie of it all, revelling in the sheer delight of being alive.  I felt as if I'd gone sledding.