When I asked my readers last week to send me their Christmas memories of Carroll Gardens, I secretly hoped that my daughter Celina, who is an incredible writer, would allow me to publish one of her childhood memories.
To my great pleasure, she sent me this lovely account of a snowy day in the neighborhood. Thanks Celina, I remember it well....
by Celina Kelly
The snow blew in underneath the door, dusting our waiting snow shoes. Anxiously, we pulled long johns from the closet and mittens from the basket in the hallway. With our mother’s careful help, coats were buttoned up, sleeves tucked into gloves, scarves tied into brightly colored knots around our necks. Finally bundled up and sweating underneath layers, Max and I emerged into the frozen tundra as puffy little people.
Outside, the trees drooped to the ground, their knobbed fingers scraping the snowdrift beneath. On our street, cars sat in smothered white lines, their tires armored with long icicles. Neighbors emerged from their houses as puffy people themselves and began the arduous task of freeing the streets from their heavy carpeting.
Against the cold granite bench and under the watchful eye of my mother, we began the construction of our igloo. We threw shovelfuls of snow onto our growing mound, the wind blowing snowflakes back into our cold sniffling faces. Scraping away at the inside, we carved a space just large enough for one of us to sit in. Max and I took turns squatting in the igloo, our bundled heads warm inside the icy walls.
When we retired from our play, we would retreat indoors, our mother waiting to dust us off and strip us of our layers. Inside, tiny red fingers slowly warmed up and wet socks were peeled off sticky feet. As children do, we chattered about our impressive igloo and whether or not it would remain standing until the next day. I would sleep at night and dream of Eskimos.
For Home Page, click Pardon Me For Asking