Me: So what do people around here wear for running in the winter?

My sister: You know, a wind breaker jacket, wind pants, a little band around the ears. Unless I’m thinking of the ’80s.

So, I’m bored senseless locked in the house. Not surprising. What is suprising is that, on some level, I still love snow….. Even though it swallows my golden retriever when she steps outside. Even though it’s made driving a joke (we can’t even get out the driveway) and Buffalo, again, a joke (surprise!). I love snow. Some people love snow for what it is, its immaculate crystal structure or its pristine beauty. Or its leading role in any White Christmas. I love it for what it could be, its potential to create thick chaos on any ordinary winter day, to cancel institutions left and right, to clog big, important routes. To make the small, pathetic snow shovel into a tool of survival. I love snow for its ability to take an unfrozen lake and some cold, Canadian air and make a blizzard that shuts down a city for days. As a child it took me closer than anything to a real, important situation in my idyllic suburban bubble. I love looking at a sky the white-gray color of an ice rink, wondering if it hides a secret storm. I love that snow sends people to their radios, forgotten AM stations tickled to life as they belt out cancellations and delays. I love that it realigns priorities, number one often becoming: Stay home. Drink hot chocolate. I love that under its blanket, the world has potential, could be anything, something perfect ready to hatch, before anyone remembers that traffic will knead it into brown slush.

I’m home in Buffalo, watching snow fall. It amuses me that this is national news. Doesn’t everyone already know it snows a lot here? Why re-hash the stereotype? Especially amusing was the Headlines News graphic that accompanied their story. In pink and blue frenzied letters: “Buffasnow!” Yes, yes that’s us.

I’m in New York! Working for God’s Love We Deliver, staying at a hostel in Chelsea, borrowing someone’s computer, won’t be updating for a bit. But I will let you know all the juicy details when I return. For now: saw a drag show, stood in line for two hours and made such good friends with the bouncer that he sang a song with kristina’s boyfriend, got lost a few times, ate at sammy’s noodle (passed it every day last fall), am reveling in NY-ness, so far all is well.

How to feel like you’re in an art film: Stand in a quiet room, a few inches away from a blank white wall. Press your forehead against the wall so you can hear your breathing loudly. Hear a clock ticking behind you. Feel existential angst.