The Winter That Almost Wasn't

Until last night, New York had barely seen anything this year that could properly be called "snow." This morning my windowsills had 10 inch drifts.

The New York Times is predicting this could be one of the top ten snowstorms in city history.

Normally on weekends I walk down to the Starbucks on 181st for a venti coffee, but today I thought I'd go for a walk first and get some shots of the pristine snow, already shin-deep, before it's ruined with foot- and pawprints, garbage, soot, and frozen dog poop.

I didn't get very far, unfortunately. The strong winds and heavy snow meant I was wet, cold and very uncomfortable before long. I turned around. I didn't even make it to Starbucks, as the prospect of going down the hill and coming back up seemed daunting. I settled for the Monkey Room.

Back inside, I curled up on the sofa with my large (if weakish) coffee and settled in to watch The V.I.P.'s, a movie I'd never heard of. Appropriately enough it's about a group of people stranded at Heathrow Airport in bad weather. It stars Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, as well as a very young Maggie Smith, Orson Welles in a minor character part, and the campy Margaret Rutherford as the Duchess of Brighton.

Now I'm going to bundle up again and trudge off to the store and make sure I have enough provisions to last out the storm.

If you don't hear from me again, tell Sean Astin goodbye for me.