JANUARY BLIZZARD

I love the winter here. I even love the snow, though the older I get, the harder it is to get around in the snow. Still, I wake up most mornings and run to the window like a child, hoping to see that all-changing coating of white. I have enjoyed snow in the two margins of my life. During my adult working years I was required to shovel, put chains on the car, and grapple with layers of clothing and rebellious boots, but now, as when I was very young, someone else does the shoveling and grappling, and I can remain in my nightie and bathrobe all day if I want to, because I don’t have to go out in bad weather. Much better.

One winter, sometime in the late 80s or early 90s, we had the most snow I’ve ever seen here. I remember the weatherman on Channel 5 showing a graphic demonstrating the snow depth was more than Wilt Chamberlain’s height. For those of you who don’t remember Wilt, he played for the Celtics and was the tallest man I’ve ever seen. That winter our backyard filled up with snow to just below the level of the back porch, about 6 feet. Our Chihuahua, Robert, had never seen snow, and apparently thought the ground had mysteriously risen somehow because, with a little bark of joy, he leaped off the edge of the deck and disappeared from view, leaving only a dog-shaped hole in the drifts below. He somehow managed to burrow his way to the stairs and emerged on the deck, cold and embarrassed, a minute or so later. He never did that again. That year we had snow on the ground from November until the end of March. A real New England winter. Robert’s companion dog, Pearl, a large black Lab, could be seen leaping hugely over the mounds and pushing large hills of snow around with her nose. I can still see her rolling around making doggie snow angels.

When my then-partner, (now Wife) and I opened our real estate business in the Circular Cellar, we thought it was quite picturesque and unusual. After all, one of the largest circular cellars on Cape Cod is a conversation starter, for sure, but we failed to consider the ten steps down from the sidewalk, and what would happen when that stairwell filled up with snow. When it did, right up to the top, it took a whole day and several hearty and helpful souls to dig it out. That year we had five-foot high snow walls separating Commercial St from the sidewalks. Nobody said “Oh, we don’t get much snow out here…”, though I distinctly remember being told that when I first arrived in Provincetown.

This time, we’re supposed to get two feet of snow and 80 mile-an-hour winds. It’s already begun. There’s about an inch on the ground and no sign of it stopping. I’m all snug in my house with the fire going, and oil lamps at the ready should the electricity fail. We have plenty of food and the neighbor has graciously allowed us to hook up to her generator so we’ll have heat if we need it. Nothing else to do but hunker down and wait till it’s over. Stay safe

Welcome to my world.

Welcome, welcome, Dear Readers. Hope you like what you read here. These are stories based upon my many years as a resident of Provincetown, MA, at the tip of Cape Cod. If you’ve been here, you’ll recognize some of the places and maybe even some of the people. If you haven’t been here, why not? I wonder. At the very least the scenery is magnificent, and I can pretty much promise you you’ve never been anywhere quite like Provincetown. It’s worth the trip, out to the tip. (Okay, that’s it. No more rhyming. I swear.)

I have lived here on and off since 1968, when I arrived in the spring to visit an old friend and stayed to make it my home. I went away several times in the early years, but I always seemed to come back here, so I finally gave in and became a full-time resident in 1979. That probably sounds like a long time ago to you. It seems like yesterday to me. The town was different then, for  sure, but underneath all the recent glitz and glamour, she’s the same tatty old girl she was when I arrived. That’s why I love it here, I guess. The things that really matter don’t change. The beach is still the beach and the bay is still there, sunshine gleaming off the water on nice days, a treasure of diamonds for free. I hear a lot of complaining about the changes over the last 10 years or so, but I also haven’t forgotten that most of those changes are things we used to wish for. Hum-m-m. I can still see the old town, lurking beneath its new suit of clothes, so to speak. Everywhere I look I find renovated facades and sheet rock where once there was horsehair plaster, but I only have to look a little deeper. The schedule hasn’t changed, for example. It’s still crowded in the summer and quiet in the winter. I almost wrote “dead in the winter”, but that isn’t true. Provincetown is anything but dead in the winter. Oh, sure, places are closed and there aren’t any parades, but plenty is going on. All one has to do is look at the bulletin board at the Stop & Shop, where announcements of pot luck suppers, trivia competitions, ceramics classes, cooking exhibitions, theatrical auditions and a plethora of other activities invite participation. A person could go from dawn to dusk without a moment to spare here in Provincetown in the winter. That’s always been the case, in my experience, and I think it’s because Cape Codders as a group have never been ones to sit around wasting time.

Another thing that hasn’t changed, thankfully, is the sense of community here. When I left to roam the world it was the first thing I missed. We take care of each other without even thinking about it. That’s not true everywhere. I think it was why I was so lonely in New York, and Chicago. I am never lonely here.

Whenever I tell people where I live, the first question is “What ‘s it like in the winter?”

This blog will attempt to answer that with anecdotes from my past. Names and places may be changed or left out in the interest of discretion. I promise to tell you when I’m doing that. If you think someone in a story is you, don’t ask. I won’t tell. And let’s not forget the stories are filtered through years of –well, years, so if time has distorted the memories, forgive me. I’m doing my best. Again, I hope you like it.