January 26, 1968. It snowed all morning and after lunch the personnel types in Headquarters building had a snowball fight with the medics in the Clinical building next door. Snowballs flew fast and furious, the air was full of them. The medics would open the two outer doors, upper and lower floors, throw the snowballs and jump back inside. The officers stood back and laughed, although I saw Dr. Dixon throw a couple. HQ won, as we had more people. After work I went to the NCO Club for a couple of happy hour drinks, and then left for my apartment at Hakuraku Mansion. There were taxies waiting at the main gate, but I was dressed warmly, with hat, earmuffs, and gloves, so decided to walk home through the winter wonderland. Many buildings in Yokohama were made of unpainted wood, and although they were well made and well repaired, some of them looked rather shabby. But, the blanket of snow covered the defects and made an overall beautiful architectural picture, and I knew I was going to enjoy the trek home. I crossed the main intersection, the traffic was light, and I started up the narrow asphalt road that wound between the houses. A thick blanket of snow covered everything, and even though it was dark, street lamps and light from windows cast sparkles of silver and gold across the snow. Stone walls lined both sides of the street, but where there were gates you could catch glimpses of smiling heads behind windows, and they were gazing out at the snow scene, and at me gazing back at them. Sometimes our eyes would meet and we would almost nod to each other. The road was steep and slippery and I could feel the pull of gravity in my legs, but the coolness, not coldness, built up my strength to make the climb. It started to snow again, and it was like marshmallow flakes falling from a shaker. A dog barked softly nearby, unseen and unmenacingly, but softly as if to ask gisn't it great to be alive tonight?h At the top of the hill there was a wide flat expanse, and the ten story building that was Hakuraku Mansion loomed over the little houses. It looked like a giant ship in a snowstorm. Ann was in her apartment on the top floor, as she had her shoji screens open and lights on, and I could see her shadow moving around. One or both of my roommates were home, as light illuminated the white shoji screens of our apartment on the eighth floor. I wanted to just stand there and look at the scene. I could feel it. It was so beautiful and poetic, so much like, "Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here, To watch his woods fill up with snow . . . The only other sound's the sweep, Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. And, I have to get to the Peanut Club!" This is a true story.
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