weather report

"I love snow. At least before they sand the roads and everything turns brown. They should have to wait three days before they do that. Put off work and shopping. Make it a ritual. Something where we all just stop, where we have to the way Muslims face Mecca. Can you imagine it? Of course not. Because there are no rituals in this country. People might think they have some, made up things. But those are just habits: The Way We Always Do It. Ritual's different, more invested with spirit, with some sense of the sacred, and where do you see that anywhere? Look around. If anything was sacred once, some company's got a trademark now and made it a collectible toy. But can you imagine? Someone's on the phone booking a one-way to Houston, fussing over seat assignments, then she looks out the window, and it's snowing, and she says, 'Sorry, I'll have to call you back.' Or this couple's been in bed together, and they're hungry now and going out to eat. The snow's coming down, sticking to their hair, their breath's all steamy, and they just turn around smiling and head back in. Maybe she cooks. Maybe they run a hot bath, and afterwards he rubs her with oil...the backs of her legs, her feet. Just think--kids putting their school books down, and buses coming early. Teachers relaxing. You can actually see their shoulders go loose, like they just took a drink from God's own bottle of wine. And even this--If anyone is beating someone, they stop. If anyone is ripping something off, they put it back. I mean, we're just shocked at this great surge of gladness. Everyone stopping and breathing, all together, all at once. And the next day, we come downtown. We walk or ski or pull our kids on sleds, but no cars. And everyone stays all day--singing, drinking coffee, sharing food, sharing water from cold glass bottles buried in snow--until it's time for the Lighting of the Candles. All these lights. More and more of them everywhere, thousands, and we shield them from the wind the whole way home. Just think of it. The third day set aside for stories. And anyone born on the third night, on their thirteenth birthday they get to plant a tree. There'd be a town orchard, and the apples there would be canned and then baked each New Year's Eve. I swear, we'd be happier. And it's nothing. It would take nothing to do this. In Asia they've had ceremony for four-thousand years. Peasants with nothing but rice to eat practically, gathering to float ancestral lanterns downstream. What's wrong with us? When did it go so wrong?"

-Rob Carney