On days like today there is usually a window of time when the snow is still falling and before the snowplows and shovelers arrive where the city is transformed becoming the domain of kids on sleds, happy dogs, and intrepid urban skiers. Snowball fights erupt with random people in the middle of the street (which is indistinguishable from the sidewalk), snowmen are built and destroyed with glee, and life seems uncomplicated. As Jenn would say, happy times, happy times.

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In the meantime, on the Upper West Side, Aunt Becky was having her own happy times:

Today people all around the city were hysterical about "blizzard of 05" . "Stock up on food and batteries, there will be a run on the grocery stores;" they said, "the city will come to a standstill. The water mains will break. The power will go out. You never know what will happen."

About a foot of snow is expected starting tomorrow.

Nothing to sneeze at, but my friends in Buffalo will hear of this with a chuckle. The last time we visited there in winter cars were covered with snow and 7 foot snowbanks turned roads into deep white trenches. And when the snow came off of Lake Erie visibility went down to a few inches. A foot is no big deal. We prepared by grabbing a few extra logs for the fire and some milk.

A digression

Because of the speed with which this cold snap hit us, the deeper subway stations have been turned into chimneys as the hot air trapped deep underground rushes to the surface. Most of New York's subways are actually right under the streets, built 100 years ago with the then innovative, dig and cover technique, but the stations around the edges of the island dive down into the bedrock to pass under the rivers. You would think the deep subway tunnels would be cool, like caves, but the constant heat escaping from the trains keeps them perpetually warm, and hence the strong wind on cold days. Today it was so bad men were losing their hats and women had to hold their skirts and coats down. Children of course enjoyed the phenomenon.

I sat near at the front of the train next to the window peering into the tracks. I always like watching the plunge from Court Street Station down into the the elegant tunnel under the East River. The tunnel is officially called the Whitehall-Montague Street Tunnel and was completed in 1917 with great fanfare. The man who oversaw the project at a ceremony for marking the final blast to complete the tunnel noted "There have been 800,000 decompressions, with air pressures reaching as high as 37.5 pounds, yet there has been only one death due to compressed air sickness. Less than 200 cases of bends have been reported. Although on the average as many as 2100 men have been employed daily, but 22 men have been killed due to accidents during the whole period of the work. This is an indication of the precautions which you have taken for the protection and safety of your men, and it merits the highest commendation."

Coming up into Manhattan the tunnel rises and starts to branch and curve. All along the way the train is guided by a simple system of stoplights. Unlike modern subways operated by a central computer. New York subways are still driven individual conductors. When the light is green the driver goes forward. When yellow he slows down. When red he stops. There is little communication between trains and no central control of the whole system although a dispatcher can now talk to all trains. In the City the trains rise to the "just under the street level" and from there the cold outside is obvious. Thick clusters icicles hang down from grates above sometimes falling onto the passing train. Here there is little wind. It's just as cold as it is outside.

Jenn keeps making me crop her... I might have to disobey her orders soon.

And we thought our boy was large:

This boy was 16.7 pounds!

I'm sleepy. It's the baby, it's too much work. It's the cold. And I haven't been getting my naps.

I subscribe to the English school of naps:

"You must sleep sometime between lunch and dinner, and no halfway measures. Take off your clothes and get into bed. That's what I always do. Don't think you will doing less work because you sleep during the day. That's a foolish notion held by people with no imaginations. You will be able to accomplish more. You get two days in one--well, at least one and a half." - Winston Churchill

A photo from the archives. I don't know why, but I was thinking about this man the other day. He patiently led me around his village, through his apple orchards, and up for some tea.

I was forwarded this image today (don't know the photographer, but it's dated this morning). The photo evoked that time in my life when I worked on the 54th floor of the Citicorp building. Many mornings up there New York looked like this...a city of of a few tower peeking out above the low clouds. We were closer to the Chrysler building so the view was even more spectacular. Sadly I never thought to snap a picture.

From the angle (facing east from midtown) I think this shot must have been taken from the Empire State Building about 3/4 of the way up.

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And speaking of nice photography check out Eliot Shepard's online portfolio.

A year ago today we were in Venice. Venice in the summer with it's tourist hordes and expensive food is intolerable, but in the winter, the place feels a bit more manageable and well.... it's Venice.

These are two shots from 1/13/04. Gosh it seems light years away.

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For now travel is just via the armchair... but soon.

Some inspiration.
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Quotes generally don't do much for me, but this sentence by Katherine Anne Porter seemed worthy of repeat:

"I am always surprised by people who cannot understand range and change, variety and contradiction, tragic feeling, a saving dash of frivolity, and the deep sense of comedy, the salt of life that makes our daily bread bearable."

I've recieved several emails from friends and family for more up to date baby pictures, so enclosed are 2 from about 4 hours ago.

I actually feel bad about not having taken more pictures, but the skies have been grey and the light dim which always leaves me photographically challenged. Also I think the digital camera makes me flabby. It's just too darned easy. Tomorrow I'm going to pull some real cameras.

My wife went out today to make a quick appearance at a good friend's birthday party leaving me alone with the baby for a bit. This might not seem like a big thing, but most new dads of breastfed kids will empathize because ultimately there is not much we can do if the kid wakes up hungry. A timer is set when the mom leaves... could be an hour, could be three hours, could five minutes. I found myself not wanting to move for fear of waking him so I watched him dream. He was in deep REM sleep and full of activity.

What do they dream about at this age? Sometimes the dreams are good with smiles and even the beginnings of a laugh, sometimes they seem to be very very bad with startles and pained yelps of panic. At this age they are generally in REM about 5-6 hours a day. In the womb it was 10 hours. Some people suggest the dreams are the babies way of forming connections, making sense of the day, and learning, but new studies suggest deep low wave sleep is more important for development and REM is just random firings of neurons that allow the brain circuitry time to recharge. Still,some part of me doesn't accept the scientific explanation and believes the his dreams take him far outside the confines of our small house to the places he visited while still in the womb in the manner of the blind experiencing the world in sounds and movements. Perhaps he's even inherited a few of our dreams. I know some of my own dreams do not always seem to be my own and would more likely belong to my grandfather or one of my many uncles. Sometimes it would make more sense if the logical world did not apply.

He of course did wake up hungry and inconsolable, but a few minutes later mom appeared and the sound of her voice alone calmed him.

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Thinking about these things brought to mind this story.

Once when I when was in Rajasthan on a desert road between Jodhpur and Jaisalmer I came upon a group of children being prepared as fire eaters for a circus. It was twilight and the kids would stand by the road blowing fire from their mouths at the passing cars hoping for a few rupees. Over and over they would shoot out flames into the air projecting a circle of yellow light around them and onto the desert floor. While there were few cars on this deserted road , almost all who passed threw out some small token. Occasionally a truck would stop, the driver would negotiate a price, and the kids would gather round with their limca soda bottles full of gasoline for a show. An older boy collected the money and gave it to their boss, a Fagin-like character named Hrishikesh. The younger boys would compete for the longest brightest flame. One played a flute. The scene was terrible and beautiful and it comes back to me in my own dreams sometime--the darkness of the desert, the indigo sky, the boys many irreparably dulled by the constant breathing of gas and kerosene with their burned mouths and odd laughter, and of course the flames lighting the dark. I wanted to leave that place quickly, but Hrishikesh invited me to tea and some part of me was fascinated. We sat outside his hut in front of a burning oil drum and talked of many things. I asked him about his dreams meaning what did he dream of doing, but he took my question literally. "I have only one dream. All my life one dream. I dream of ice and a world without fire." After the tea I excused myself feeling I was about to be robbed, he protested but let me hitch a ride to Shaitrawa with a trucker. Before I left he looked me in the eyes and said, "You will not forget this amazing thing" he said, "You will dream this night."

Today I had 2 email requests for a picture of my home office (actually one was a geek asking for a "shot of my computer rig"). I don't know what these people are imagining, but it's a rather dreary attic space, stuffed with books and computer equipment, in a 160 year old brownstone. I'm a Mac guy and run things off of a G5, a G4 and an iBook. I've been trying to organize the place since we moved in back in September but life being what it is, I'm sure I won't be done until it is time to move.

Today was my birthday. While I enjoy celebrating other people's birthdays my own have never had much meaning for me. I have never quite understood all the anticipation and fuss (Nor do I understand people who get gloomy talking darkly being another step closer to the grave--Hey buddy, you are one step closer every day, why single out your birthday). Perhaps it's simply timing. Falling twelve days after Christmas and only 6 days after New Years, I tire of being jolly. The weather is often miserable. People are out of town. So my birthdays tend to pass quietly or at least they have since my big roller skating party in the 7th grade.

My 20th was spent in the library (someone had actually planned a surprise party but couldn't find me). My 25th was spent locked out of the house with a vomiting dog. The only reminder of my 30th was a card from my dentist who sent me a limerick incorporating a birthday message with notice of an upcoming appointment. "There was once a man named Raul..."

These days people have reminders in email and calendar programs so you get those automated electronic postcards. I got 6 today. One with a dancing pig.

My wife will have none of my indifference. Year by year she's been wearing me down with carefully selected gifts, nice meals and general thoughtfulness. So while I still don't completely understand why birthdays should be such a big deal, and I make mistakes (like blowing out my candles on the first 2 bars of the song and accidentally opening my gifts early), I've come to enjoy the day and even sort of look forward to it.

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This is us, a bit out of focus, on my birthday last year.

I know Lance Armstrong has raised lots of money for cancer with his wristbands, but why is it that everyone who wears one is kind of a jackass?