New York, the city that never sleeps, is officially having a much-needed nap. Last night public transport was shut down, all cars were banned after 11pm, and panicking Park Slopers ran to stockpile pitta chips and sancerre.
Heading home early yesterday after my office closed at noon, catching a lift with a colleague for a slow slippy crawl back to Brooklyn as snow pounded thick and horizontal into the unsuspecting faces of a million citizens lugging home candles and bottled water, I wondered if perhaps we were all just ever-so-slightly over-reacting.
And of course, we were. "Super Storm" Juno ploughed a kitteny purr through the night, scattering a paltry six inches (news casts had predicted as much as 36) of powdery soft snow, and we have woken up this morning, offices and shops closed, meetings cancelled, to a day off. What they call here a "snow day". Even my yoga class has been cancelled- there is no time for asanas when snow men are to be made and relatives are to be reassured in luxuriously lengthy skype calls that really everything is fine despite what CNN says.
As I write this, the radiators are hissing like fat little dragons, BBC Radio 4 is on (something about Russia) my sweet husband is dutifully arranging the book case and the evening will usher in whisky and spaghetti and binge watching our favourite new show (have you seen it? Oh Jeffrey Tambor my heart beats for you).
Thank you Juno, you naughty little storm in a tea cup, for getting us all worked up, if only for forcing us to put some good hard effort into sitting down, giving up on the distractions, and simply being cozy.