Tuesday Tea: Snow or No? Plus, a Poem!
In our imagination, the world is a snow globe
Here’s a thing to know about us: We love snow!
It took 13 years of living in Austin, Texas, for us to realize we deeply love snow and cold weather. A walk in the snow, skiing, snowshoeing (read about the time we tried it) — and sitting inside, nice and cozy, watching the flakes fall? The Best.
As usual, it will be gray and in the 30sF here in Prague on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Nobody says, I’m dreaming of a drizzly Christmas, but See’s chocolates, Jolabokaflod books, lasagna, cookies, and our cat Smudge are helping us feel pretty merry, even without a dusting of powdered sugar on the Prague architecture.
In lieu of a white Christmas, here’s a lovely poem by Lisel Mueller. (Her story is quite dramatic: She was born in 1924 in Hamburg, Germany. She and her family fled the Nazis — her father was interrogated by the Gestapo for four days — and settled in the US in 1939. Read more here.)
Not only the Eskimos by Lisel Mueller
We have only one noun
but as many different kinds:
the grainy snow of the Puritans
and snow of soft, fat flakes,
guerrilla snow, which comes in the night
and changes the world by morning,
rabbinical snow, a permanent skullcap
on the highest mountains,
snow that blows in like the Lone Ranger,
riding hard from out of the West,
surreal snow in the Dakotas,
when you can't find your house, your street,
though you are not in a dream
or a science-fiction movie,
snow that tastes good to the sun
when it licks black tree limbs,
leaving us only one white stripe,
a replica of a skunk,
unbelievable snows:
the blizzard that strikes on the tenth of April,
the false snow before Indian summer,
the Big Snow on Mozart's birthday,
when Chicago became the Elysian Fields
and strangers spoke to each other,
paper snow, cut and taped,
to the inside of grade-school windows,
in an old tale, the snow
that covers a nest of strawberries,
small hearts, ripe and sweet,
the special snow that goes with Christmas,
whether it falls or not,
the Russian snow we remember
along with the warmth and smell of furs,
though we have never traveled
to Russia or worn furs,
Villon's snows of yesteryear,
lost with ladies gone out like matches,
the snow in Joyce's ‘The Dead,’
the silent, secret snow
in a story by Conrad Aiken,
which is the snow of first love,
the snowfall between the child
and the spacewoman on TV,
snow as idea of whiteness,
as in snowdrop, snow goose, snowball bush,
the snow that puts stars in your hair,
and your hair, which has turned to snow,
the snow Elinor Wylie walked in
in velvet shoes,
the snow before her footprints
and the snow after,
the snow in the back of our heads,
whiter than white, which has to do
with childhood again each year.
Literary references in the poem:
François Villon poem ‘Ballad of the Ladies of Bygone Times’ (‘Ballade des dames du temps jadis’) — read it here in French and English
James Joyce story ‘The Dead’ — read it here
Conrad Aiken story ‘Silent Snow, Secret Snow’ — read it here
Yes!!! I am from Northern New York on the Canadian border in lake Ontario. That is where I grew up. When you hear about the snow the Buffalo New York Jets, you can be sure that my hometown got more. I miss those blizzards and there is nothing more beautiful than walking silent streets at night with snow coming down. It is beautiful and breathtaking. I currently live in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania and we are having a drizzly Christmas that I did not dream of either. I also miss what comes along with snow. Ice-skating, snowmobiling, skiing, tobogganing. and of course snowball fights. as kids, we built so many forts and mountains on which to play. I would give anything to recapture all of that for Christmas. I would prefer it to any Christmas gift ever.
Five inches of fresh powdery snow in Northern Vermont saves us from the melancholy gray last night! SNOW is mandatory for Christmas in my little world, as I read The Sugar Queen.
Lasagna is also Yes on Christmas Day!
Merry Christmas!!!!