I live in New England and thus I am currently being snowed upon. Heavily. Relentlessly. Except for the blizzard of 1976, I don’t ever remember ever having this much snow on the ground in Massachusetts. We are up to our ears, and for the shorter ones among us, way over our heads. While I like to complain about the cold, the shoveling, and the inconvenience as much as the next person, I have to admit this snow thrills some part of me.

I suspect the appeal is its lavishness. There is nothing stingy about this winter’s snow. There’s more than enough for everyone, everywhere. How much snow can you use? Yeah? We’ve got it here, and more. And if you are worried we might run out, there’s more falling from the sky tomorrow.

If you grow up around these parts you hear a lot of (restrained) talk about moderation, good taste, all that. Unfashionably enough, I am attracted to the ornate, playful, over-the-top aspects of Rococo art. Abundance, I love ya’. In fact one of my design mantras is “go with it” . . . by which I mean, if the design seems scattered and lacks cohesion, maybe it needs to be more scattered, more random, more, more, more, until it’s about scatteredness, and holds together in that way. Or, if I am thinking oh, the color temperature in this piece seems too hot — often the way to succeed visually is not to moderate it, but rather to push it off the charts with saturated red and orange, add a little black here and there to make it even hotter. GO with it. You can see why I despise the Mies van der Rohe shibboleth, “Less is more.” Because it isn’t.

I was thinking this morning about another aspect of excess — the way people make a fuss over their pets. Yes, I too am guilty of those slobbery greetings and euphoric exclamations, “Sweet puppyman! Favorite furchild! Dogfaced boy!”

I have a friend from Ecuador who married a Yankee and came to raise her family in the inhospitable frozen tundra of New England. She, who anwers her three children’s insistent “Mami! Mami!” with a dulcet “Si mi amor; si mi alma; si mi corazon,” (Yes my love, my soul, my heart) was deeply offended by her bluestocking Yankee mother-in-law who acted reserved and aloof with the grandchildren, but would lavish endearments and kisses on the elderly flatulent poodle. I told my friend, “We don’t call them God’s frozen people for nothing.”

Although I am not in favor of raising indulged and entitled children, I still think
it’s very good for kids to hear, every now and then: “Anything you want.” It can be said within the limits of the ice cream truck’s choices or the selection of sneakers at the discount store, but still it gives a wonderful feeling of abundance, with glee and a flood of affection.

I think of the delighful song from Oliver — “I’d do anything for you dear, anything, for you mean everything to me.”

Readers, what are your experiences with the upsides and the downsides of lavishness? How does it make you feel? I don’t think I’ve discussed this with anyone and I am curious. Abundantly so.

Looking down my front steps. On the other side of the mailboxes is the street, empty of traffic today.