The One With the First Snow

Perhaps it’s because snowfall is relatively infrequent in the grand scheme of weather patterns... but I’ve noticed that falling snow has the power to take me quickly back to similar memories that are frozen (pun intended) in my memory. Last night, I left work and wedged myself into a crowded Septa bus that was undoubtedly running slower than normal, and full of people who had also left work a little bit early for fear of being stuck somewhere by the dreadful quarter inch of snow that was accumulating on the street. When I couldn’t handle the stifling bus any longer, and when it stopped conveniently close to a favorite coffee shop, I decided to get off and walk the rest of the way home.

The sky is always lighter when it snows. I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for this, but for me, an artistic explanation is sufficient: something pure and white is falling from the heavens to cover what is dirty and tired and cold, and as it comes down, the sky lights up like your best friend’s face when they are handing you a gift and smiling in sheer anticipation of the joy that it will bring you. When this happens, there’s something inside me that can’t help but want to be outside, receiving that gift snowflake by snowflake as it falls down around me.

I remember a night in the winter of ‘aught six, living on Lakewood Avenue in Chicago, when the snow had been falling for several hours, and had piled up on the tree branches outside my bedroom window. The lights in the house were all turned off; it was late and I should have been going to sleep. The streetlights outside cast a comforting glow on the scene, like the warm lamplight of the Lantern Waste when Lucy first discovered Narnia. I was drawn to it like a bee to the flower, and I grabbed my coat and hat and gloves and went for a walk. That was the winter when I wore without fail the black beanie that I’d bought at Disney World the summer before from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I remember, because I took the bus every day to my job in West Rogers Park, and one or two of the other regulars on that 8:36am bus commented on how unfitting it seemed that a little blond girl, usually wearing a skirt and tights and Mary Janes, was wearing a hat with the words “Dead Men Tell No Tales” embroidered on the back. But that’s beside the point; on this particular night I adorned my cap as usual, and walked in circles around my neighborhood in several inches of snow, just taking it all in. I remember that I wasn’t the only one with that idea that night. I passed several neighbors along the way who were also walking, mesmerized, in the wonder of the falling snow, and we exchanged a small smile as if to say, “Ah, so you appreciate this too.” I eventually returned to my dark bedroom, and penned these words before falling asleep:

They say ‘a picture is worth a thousand words.’
But tonight, I have no camera.

I have only my eyes…
that watch the snow lying heavily on the trees, their branches pulled near to the ground, like a runner reaching for his toes after a marathon. They hang there, hardly blown by the wind, but swaying under the weight of the heavy white burden that has been cast upon them from heaven above. They do not complain. Instead, they move gracefully under this weight, as if they know that this heavy blanket is to their winter barenness as the royal robe of the emperor who had lost his clothes.
And I have my ears…
that hear the steady drip, drip, drip, as great drops of wet snow tumble off the rooftops and tree limbs above. I don’t even try to dodge them, for they are too many and fall too often.

Instead, I feel them on my nose. At first, I wrinkle my face against the icy intrusion, but then decide to embrace the storm. I stick out my tongue, to catch the drops and the blowing flakes that swirl around me.

And I have my feet… that feel the crunch of the snow beneath them,

And my lungs…
that breathe in the fresh, cold air. It comes in my mouth, and fills my whole being with the knowledge that indeed, I am alive! I am a living, breathing human being, and right now, I am so thankful to just be. To experience the beauty of creation, to understand it, appreciate it, feel it, hear it, see it, and even put it in a few meager words.

So, whoever “they” are, perhaps tonight I have proven them wrong.

Or maybe, I just need to get a camera.

Either way, I walk down my enchanted neighborhood block and wonder if I am crazy for stepping outside of my apartment at 11:30 at night just to experience snow. Then, I see a man ride by on his bike, and a car full of university students out for a joy ride, and a couple taking a walk, and I hear voices down the alley and around the corner, and bits of laughter in my neighbor’s yard, and I know that even if I am crazy, I am not the only crazy one.

I stand on the threshold of my apartment building, keys in hand, and look again down the street. The snow is too wet to stay. By morning, the royal robes may have already fallen from the trees and the carpet beneath my feet turned to puddles. I linger a few minutes longer, hearing the voice of the child inside me begging to walk around the block or down to the lakefront. Then the voice of reason and safety calls me from inside… and I obey this second voice.

Still, even as I write now in my dark apartment, my eyes are drawn to the window, and to the white-clad branches that wave to me from just beyond the glass. Goodnight, friends. Enjoy your new clothes while they last.

So, 'here here' to the snow that is still clinging to the sidewalks and rooftops this morning. Winter has set in, and if my room is going to hover at 50 degrees for the next few months, I may as well have some snow outside to make the cold worthwhile.

-Rachel H.

the one with the really good coffee.

let me tell you a story about me and coffee. it started with wawa cappuccinos in the 9th grade, when it was cool and terribly grown up to drink something resembling coffee, even if it was absolutely fake and probably made from a powdered mix. (that was in the days before *bucks came to havertown.) like most people my age, my coffee taste has changed and grown up a bit as i've gotten older. and as my taste matured, the coffee industry itself has grown up a bit. no longer is *bucks seen as the highest quality of coffee you can find... at least, not if you really know anything about the coffee industry.

for the ignorant, let me educate you briefly about the "third wave" of coffee. (don't feel bad if you are just learning this; i am new to the scene myself.) actually, I am just going to quote wikipedia here, since they are the source of all knowledge. you can read more if you'd like...

The Third Wave of Coffee refers to a current movement to produce high-quality coffee, and consider coffee as an artisanal foodstuff, like wine, rather than a commodity, like wheat. This involves improvements at all stages of production, from improving coffee bean growing, harvesting, and processing, to stronger relationships between coffee growers and coffee traders and roasters, to higher quality and fresh roasting, at times called microroasting (by analogy with microbrew beer), to skilled brewing. Third Wave Coffee aspires to the highest form of culinary appreciation of coffee...

With dreams of our own coffee shop still lingering, the rachels of 1302 have set out on a mission to find the best coffee in philadelphia. Just a couple of weeks ago, we may have hit the mark, thanks to our new coffee connoisseur friend Jake. But let me tell you about some of the runners up along the way, in case you're ever in our great city with a hankering for a good cuppa joe...

and the winner is...! seriously, the best coffee we've ever had. ever ever. thanks ultimo, you have made us really happy coffee drinkers. if we ever open our own coffee shop, we can only hope to hold a candle to your greatness.

the one in NYC

on labor day we decided to take advantage of our proximity to NYC and spent the day enjoying the park and city. couple of the highlights:

the one with all the pictures

just a few random pictures that don't really require a post of their own....

Gotta love yoga

rachel's new sleeping bag

some of us like yogurt. some of us LOVE it :)

the one with the sweaty butts

ok. funny short story about our house. it might be a little tmi, but i'm still gonna share it! a little while ago we discovered that there is a hot water line running into our upstairs toilet. how do we know this you might ask? so glad you asked!

if you use the toilet directly after someone has flushed it, you might get up with a case of "sweaty butt." you sit down with a (hopefully) dry butt, but when you are done...it's a little moist! see, when the new water fills the tank, it fills with hot water! so hot in fact, that you can actually see it steaming from the toilet. the other day when i was cleaning it, i poured the cleaner in and the steam started gushing out!

we aren't quite sure how to deal with this. i was told that it would be quite the elaborate process to fix it. tearing up tiles and all that, coupled with the fact that our landlord isn't the greatest at getting things in our house fixed. so in all reality, we are probably just going to have to learn to live with sweaty butts. its not so bad though. i mean in the winter it might be a nice place to warm up!

rachel k

the one with all the gunshots

this story actually comes from several months ago but was reminded of it the other night. i was sitting in my room with three college friends who had come to visit for the weekend, when we heard several very loud gunshots outside. we rushed to the window, saw some people in the chinese store across the store looking anxious but other than that there was no evidence of the sounds we had just heard. but as we sat gazing down upon the street i told the girls about the flashbacks that were running through my head.

back in february, philly got hit with several large snow storms. one evening as the snow from one of these storms was just beginning to collect, i heard that familiar sound of gunshots. i was instantly a little freaked out because it was the first time i had really heard this sound (we had only really been living here a little over a month at that point). i tried to reassure myself that it was nothing. just because i lived in the city didn't mean that sound was gunshots. i peeked out the window but didn't see anything unusual. so i went back to whatever i had been doing and forgot about it.

if only it were that simple.

about 30 minutes later i noticed police lights flashing outside. i took up my perch on the edge of my bed at the window once again. this time however i turned out the lights so it wouldn't be quite so obvious that i was spying on the street. i watched as a whole group of cops went around the snow covered intersection with their flashlights. they were definitely looking for something but they seemed unsure of what. the cop cars came and went over the next few hours. some pulled up casually. others flew down the wrong way of the one way street causing me to believe they had found what they were looking for. only to have them come back a few minutes later seemingly empty handed.

the crime scene tape went up blocking off the next block of thompson street. but people kept walking in and out as if there wasn't really anything to be concerned about. eventually i went to bed, feeling like i had just turned off an episode of CSI.

it wasn't until the next day that some diligent internet searching provided some answers. a 13 year old kid had been in a car that was "stopped in traffic" (yeah right... there usually isn't any traffic on thompson) and had been shot in the back of the head. police didn't seem to know if the bullets were truly intended for him or someone else in the car. as of that time he was in the hospital in critical condition.

never really followed up with that one... but i definitely replay that scene in my head whenever that sound appears in the neighborhood. thankfully that isn't too often :)

-sarah-

the one with the purple vodka drinks.

On Wednesday nights during the summer, we have found a new hobby: playing Quizzo.* It is good for our egos, because we are terrible at it. To date, I think I have contributed all of 3 answers to our team's effort.** Pathetic. Luckily, our friend Seth knows everything, and so a couple of weeks ago we won free T-shirts which are the beginnings of our Quizzo shrine.

So why do we keep going? Well, I'll tell you. First, because Urban Saloon has some darn good beer on tap. But second, (and mostly) just because our friends go there. And isn't the whole point of the local pub to be the place where you meet your friends every week after work? I've always wanted to be one of those "regulars" who goes to the same pub/restaurant/coffee house, and smiles knowingly at the bartender/waitress/barista who knows what you like to order. In the spirit of Friends, the Urban Saloon is our summer Central Perk. But, I digress.

The point of this blog entry is to say that last night, we added some pretty spectacular finds to our Quizzo shrine. There is some sort of promotion happening for a new flavored vodka that has involved free samples during the last few weeks of Quizzo. A nice man comes around with funny shaped plastic cups that remind us a little bit of communion glasses, gives us a free sample, and takes our picture. Last night's sample drink was called "Purple Rain," featuring the new grape-flavored vodka which, when mixed with the cranberry and sour and soda tasted a whole lot like children's Dimetap. Needless to say, we did not order a whole drink. But sample man gave us some really large purple plastic glasses, and purple glow bracelets! It was like the fourth of July all over again. When Rach and I rode our bikes home with our glow bracelets on our arms, we felt a whole lot safer that the cars could see us. Which, as we all know, is one of the many benefits of glow bracelets. If you ride your bike in the city, you should probably stand up right now and go to the store to buy yourself a pack. As the old saying goes, it just might be a glow bracelet that saves your life.

Meanwhile, I am pretty excited about the endless possible uses of this pair of glasses. And that, my friends, is tonight's tale from the city of love.

-Rachel H.


*To define this term for the ignorant, Quizzo is a quiz game usually hosted at pubs. The contents of the trivia are quite different in different cultures, or depending on the Quiz Master. The Europeans are known to ask difficult questions about history, geography and culture, while we Americans prefer pop culture (shocker.) Being pop-culturally ignorant, I have a difficult time with this game as it is played at the Urban Saloon.

**I knew the order in which the chicken, baby, tiger and woman-leaving appeared in the opening sequence of "The Hangover," I knew that a "nightjar" is a bird (well, I thought I knew, but I actually wasn't emphatic enough and so our team put down "insect" instead and didn't get the point), and I knew that the band Augustana sang that song about wanting to go to Boston and starting a new life...

the one where germany was almost the champion of the world.

It's true: I'm a fair-weather sports fan.
I jump on the bandwagon of teams when it's convenient (the phillies last summer, the chicago bears in superbowl 2007, etc.) And it just happened to be very convenient that I lived in Germany for 3 years, and then the German soccer team was doing very well in the world cup this year. I do like watching soccer; I wasn't just faking it. But I do get a lot more excited about a game when I can pretend to have a legitimate attachment to a team.

So, go Deutschland, go.

Even better, my friends who I worked with while in Germany came to visit the weekend that Germany played in the quarter-final game. Hooray! What could be cooler than getting dressed in our German jerseys and colors and cheering wildly for our second homeland amidst a rowdy crowd of Argentinians? It was a blast, really. It's too bad that they were tragically defeated by Spain in the semi-final, leaving me helpless and apathetic as to the outcome of the final game. I walked by a table of exuberant Spaniards after it was over and I they were yelling so loudly I couldn't help but shout out a hearty "viva Espana!" but really, it didn't matter.

All that to say, I might be guilty of falling into this #133 of many things that white people like, though not for all the reasons they say. But we got to walk around Philadelphia all day in our German colors and feel really cool. And that was worth it all.

-rachel h.

three: the one with smoky the cat

so this one time rachel h had made us a great dinner and had put some bread in the oven to make garlic bread. mid-bite we realized that the toast had been left in the oven and was now completely burnt!
we promptly opened the windows and back door to air things out and then returned to our dinner. out of no where rachel jumps up and screams "CAT!" and sure enough a stray cat had found its way in the back door. her scream frightened the cat back outside but since rachel has a soft spot for cats she quickly put out a bowl of milk and lured the cat back in.
the cats gray color and the foggy condition of the house led us to name the cat smoky. from time to time we still see him lurking around... probably hoping for another bowl of milk!

-sarah

two: the one where they pee in the alley.

we have a small patio out back: bricks laid unevenly inside a concrete wall, a gate that doesn't quite shut properly, and a creepy fake owl on the fence of our neighbor's garden.
we absolutely love it.


in the early spring days here at 1302, we sat outside at night, savoring the sudden change of temperature and our ability to feel our apendages again after a frigid winter. we bought some chairs and a little table (another story to come about those purchases) and, in lieu of a fire pit, a big ol' tray of candles. it was all just about heavenly until we heard a strange noise on the other side of our concrete wall: a trickle of liquid. where was it coming from? was someone washing their dog down the alley? had a fire hydrant opened up? was it starting to rain?

"is someone peeing in our alley?"

as the days got warmer, the heat pushed the scent through our gate, confirming that indeed, our alley was a prime outhouse in the neighborhood.

we're still in the process of testing a number of experiments to determine what will most effectively deter the alley-pee-ers. so far we've tried yelling, "hey, are you really peeing in the alley? we live here you know!" that didn't seem to do much. so tonight, rachel and i sat on the back (cooling down after our intense yoga workout) singing "the sound of music" and "somewhere over the rainbow" at the top of our lungs. if that doesn't cause the pee-ers to turn right around... well, we have no hope.

suggestions?

-rachel h.

one: the one where we meet the authors.

it all started with hard wood floors and exposed brick walls, a guy named aaron, and drinks at fado's.

before we knew it, it was january 1, 2010, and we had signed a lease. only 2 of us had jobs in the city, but our hopes were high. since that cold january day, we've had not a few adventures, and the list continues to grow. and because our lives are just so spectacular, we felt the need to share.

rachel h: she's our favorite barista and she can be yours too! she can't have dairy but let us just say...she is opening our eyes to whole new world of non-dairy products! she loves to travel and live in the city, eat avocados and drink tea out of handmade mugs from germany. dance party? no problem, she'll bust a move and possibly flash you if we're at a wedding!

rachel k: she's come a long way from the town that's famous for its new year's eve pickle drop. her fantastic decorating taste has made our house look like it's worthy of being in the anthropologie catalogue, even though nothing is actually from there. she's our household gardener, she dreams of having her own bakery, she loves her new chucks, and she's on a first-name basis with her local starbucks barista. buy her a newcastle draught and you'll be her friend forever.

sarah: a short and sassy redhead, she knows a lot about michael jackson, and looks great in leggings. she has almost every episode of "friends" memorized, and her sentences often start with, "did you see the one where...?" her preschool students have created some prize works of art that hang on her bedroom walls. and she's never met an aussie snack she hasn't liked.

crystal: you'd think that someone who hails from Vermont wouldn't be as cold as she always is. she comes from a long background of mennonites, and likes to eat animal crackers. she often comes home with various bites and scratches inflicted upon her by her students. we, as her roommates tell her to quit her job almost everyday!