January 18, 2007

The Portland that usually knows no snow is blanketed in white. The last two nights have been purple, the citylights reflecting off of the sidewalks and streets, creating a brightness, the night air so full with light you could swim in it.

This city has almost no plows, certainly no salt, only a little gravel for the thoroughfares. Everyone is outside, happily pulling on boots and donning the coats they've pulled from the back of the closet. Children sledding in the streets, couples skiing down the sidewalks. Sara and all of her friends wore their PJs backwards and it worked; no school for two days, maybe three.

When the back door swung wide, Obie didn't know what to do. He doesn't like the rain, but this wasn't rain. It fell slower. Tentative, he puppyfooted out onto the deck, rooting his nose into the cold powder, looking at us, surprised, before bounding like a gazelle into the yard. We took him to the park where he danced gleefully, chasing the invisible, waggle waggle.

I made a snow angel and she revealed the grass beneath, white on green. And then we trekked back home for homemade cinnamon rolls and milk and fleece blankets and movies.

I fishtailed to rehearsal today, despite the snow, where we huddled in the cold theatre, jackets on, jumping up and down, doing some table work and then putting everything up on its feet. I love rehearsal, I love the people, I love the light outside, I love the 17,000 episodes of Alias I have watched in the last three days, I love my boots, I love Sam, I love my dog. I am working on loving more.

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