Icicles

The long and intense cold spell has broken for now, and we’re seeing temperatures above freezing. Today, in winter sun, the icicles on the west side of the house, just outside my office window are dripping their lives away.  The massive wall of icicles that hung from the canopy above the front door has broken off and fallen into the heap of snow that still covers the front porch.  Driving around Cooperstown yesterday I did a sort of icicle census.  Probably more than half the houses are adorned, but the icicle constructions vary widely.  On some houses there are neat little rows of icicles less than a foot in length.  But other houses sport massive, dramatic specimens – perhaps six feet in length.  Who would say there’s not much to do in Cooperstown in the winter?  There are all those icicles to admire and catalogue.

There are plenty of other things to do too.  On Friday night we went to the first of three films in the Cabin Fever Film Series the Fenimore Museum puts on.  The auditorium was full, or close to it, for a showing of Wes Anderson’s Phoenician Scheme.  A fabulous cast, but not my sense of humor.  Still, it was visually rich, and a break from the frozen landscape we live in.  The Museum is closed during the winter months, but they open for Cabin Fever, with the floors and carpets covered with paper and plastic as protection against muddy boots.

On Saturday morning there was the usual sociable shopping at the Farmers Market and then a stop at Tin Bin Alley to pick up chocolate truffles for Silvio.  (Once, wanting to send a nice package to our granddaughter Fiona, I went into Tin Bin Alley to ask if they had any pretty tins I could buy.  Oddly, they had never thought to carry tins at Tin Bin Alley.  How do  these things happen?)  Sometime in our first winter in Hartwick in 2018, our pal Silvio, who owns the Hartwick Restaurant, said something about loving chocolate, and bringing him Valentine’s Day chocolates became a tradition.  When we were back in California in 2021 and 2022 we had them shipped – a way to stay connected with Otsego County life.

Silvio’s grand old dog, Max, died just a couple of weeks ago we learned.  I hadn’t considered skipping Valentine’s Day, even though we rarely see Silvio now.  But with Max’s death, I was especially glad that we went out to see him.  Silvio lives alone, and although he was stoic in talking about Max’s death, I’m sure it’s having a big impact on him.  Winter is a hard time for Silvio.  His business dries up as tourists are gone and locals stay home. Keeping the restaurant open seven days a week, he spends much of his time alone and Max was a lot of company.

Loneliness, especially winter loneliness, can be more damaging than cold, ice and snow.  Louise, who lived next door, spent a lot of time alone during the winter, although even after her daughter moved out, the kids visited pretty often.  In warmer weather Louise would sit on her little front porch or would work in the yard and Charlie and I would always stop to visit with her.  But in winter, we rarely saw her unless she was putting out peanuts for the deer when we came by.  And this winter, with Charlie aging, we are out even less – and of course Louise’s house is empty now.  But she has plenty of winter company in the assisted living facility she moved to in the fall.

When I visited Louise there she went over most of the photographs she had up on her walls or standing on tables and the dresser. She told me the stories of the people, their relationships to her, where they lived, what they did. Her memories were a lot of company for her, although she didn’t remember who I was.  

The quiet of winter has me thinking about memory, about what we know and what we invent.  At my niece Cadhla’s suggestion I’m reading a fascinating novel, What We Can Know, that deals with questions of memory, of what we can know about our own past and the bigger past of the world. The author says, “Memory is a sponge.  It soaks up material from other times, other places and leaks it all over the moment in question.”  Watching the icicles leaking away their substance in the sun, I remember, or think I remember, other winters, other icicles, in The Bronx of my childhood, in Mamaroneck where I went to High School, in Santa Fe where I was in college.  They were beautiful, and they melted.

P.S. Apologies to anyone who received the spam invitation that appeared to come from me! I was hacked.