The Intimacy of Snow

Snow is the great equalizer.

So when I go outside for my daily walk and find that between the time I looked out the window upstairs and walked down the steps it has begun to snow, I am surprised.

Back up I go to get an umbrella and walk through the swirling flakes.

When I stop at the ATM by the VCU Welcome Center, there is a man already using it.

Suddenly he turns around, grins and says, "You have a friendly face."

Not sure why this matters, I ask.

"I turned around once and saw a 357 Magnum pointed at me," he explained. "I told the guy I was broke, but he patted me and my friend down anyway."

I almost never have cash with me, so I'd always thought my plan would be to claim poverty, which I told him.

"But you're easy on the eyes," he said. "So then you got to worry about what else he might want."

Gulp.

"Be safe!" he said, lumbering off. "Stay warm in the snow!"

Turning back down Broad, I immediately heard what I thought was bucket drummers.

From behind a column came a long-haired guy with snowflakes in his hair grinning and holding a box.

"Got any spare change for a song?" he asked, gesturing at his instrument.

I explained that I was just getting some exercise and hadn't a dime with me.

Since I love an unexpected song, all I could do was apologize.

"You got a great smile," he said, "So you deserve a song anyway."

Next thing I knew he was beatboxing and singing to me as we stood under the shelter of the Welcome Center.

Passing by the bus stop on the next block, a guy smiled and said, "Good morning, pretty lady. How are you doing?"

Quite well, I said.

"You need to get home and out of this snow," he advised.

And miss all this random interaction? Pshaw.

Coming back up Clay Street, I saw an elderly woman who looked like she weighed 90 pounds lugging two enormous bags of groceries.

I approached her and asked if I could carry one if them for her.

She agreed timidly, so I tried chatting her up to make her more comfortable with me.

By the time we got to her house in Carver, I knew she'd raised the children of the Dementi family, living with them and having Thursdays and every other weekend off.

When they grew up, she'd taken a job with another family, but lived in her own home.

"That was much better," she said, smiling. "Now I work in a medical office."

She asked what I thought of the meteor over Russia, a subject which clearly has her concerned.

We discussed the importance of snow in killing off germs that are making so many people sick lately.

When we got to her house, I placed the bag I'd carried on her porch and wished her a good day.

"I so enjoyed talking to you," she said, smiling widely. "Thank you for helping me with my bag."

Waving good-bye just as the snow tapered off, I headed home.

If you're out while it's snowing, you become part of an exclusive club.

My fellow members made it an especially enjoyable club meeting today.