Everybody off the street
Rob Price

"I wonder what the sea gulls make of all this," I said to my wife.

Snow was whipping through the parking lot in front of the Hornell Wal Mart, and through the windshield of our car I was watching a gull glide through the wind. The bird was gray and white, pretty much the same color as the snowstorm.

"Maybe they appreciate the camouflage," my wife said.

The two of us had set out in the middle of Wednesday's storm, defying all common sense and the best advice of emergency management professionals. In Bath, the police chief had even sent a fax to the newspaper advising against "unnecessary travel."

"We just need a few things at the store," my wife had said.

"Are you sure?" I said. "We really shouldn't be on the road."

"Just a few things," my wife said.

One of the things we needed was a pair of gloves, since I had dropped one of mine in the street the night before. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have worried about the matter, but my wife insisted we might need all the gloves we could lay our hands on, just in case we decided to go sledding.

We parked the car and headed for the store. An old friend waved to us and walked over. "The radio said only essential personnel should go to work," he said, grinning. "I'm not sure if I'm essential or not."

We all laughed. Snow days can make you feel like a child again. Even when you've brought work home from the office and papers are sitting on your desk, awaiting your attention, it feels like everyone has taken a day off from the normal routine.

We bought gloves, then drove to the grocery store to pick up just the few things my wife said we needed. The store was almost empty. "Most of our customers did their shopping yesterday," a helpful clerk pointed out.

We all agreed mature adults do their grocery shopping before bad weather hits. Then my wife and I drove to the video store in search of the movie "The Departed," which had just been released on DVD. Tragically, all copies of the movie had already been rented, but the friendly clerk promised to call us if anyone returned a copy.

"Now we really need to go home and get the car off the street," I said.

My wife agreed, and for several hours we worked happily at our desks, getting much more accomplished than we could have had we been in our offices.

Then the phone rang. The clerk from the video store was calling to report a copy of "The Departed" was available!

"My husband will be right over," my wife said. She looked at me and said, "Would you pick up a bottle of wine, too?"

I dug the car out and headed off into the storm. The roads were fairly clear except on the main streets, where the plows had pushed big piles of snow. I picked up "The Departed," then drove to the liquor store for a bottle of wine. Mission accomplished, I returned home, parked the car safely and got back inside.

"What a fun day this is," my wife said. "I feel very relaxed."

We relaxed together, getting more work done and being very productive. As the sky darkened, we started making dinner: a chick pea and garlic soup that is an absolutely perfect dinner on a cold winter night. You add a dash of rosemary for some extra taste.

"Where's the rosemary?" I said.

"Uh oh," said my wife.

I dug the car out again, hopped in and took off for the store. It's entirely possible I was the only person in the state of New York driving around Wednesday night for a jar of dried rosemary, but, as my wife pointed out, rosemary is really a very important ingredient in chick pea and garlic soup.

Later, the rosemary secured, we settled down with "The Departed," which turned out to be everything I had hoped for: A horrifically violent tale of the mob with excellent performances from many actors, most of whom get shot to death by the end of the movie.

I recommend it. Also, in general, I join emergency management professionals in recommending against unnecessary travel during intense snow storms. Except for emergencies, like buying gloves and renting videos. And of course rosemary. You really must have rosemary for chick pea and garlic soup.