As I Write This, Bing Crosby's Version of "It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas" Swells in the Background

That's right, I'm listening to Christmas music.

It seems right. The lake effect snow band that fell on Buffalo and the southtowns on Thursday while I was up there teaching has now shifted, and it's falling over ski country. This snow is different than Thursday's snow, though. It's not that heavy wet snow. It's fluffy, delicate, beautiful snow. Snow that puts you in the mood for the holidays, for Christmas, for sledding, for drinking mugs of hot chocolate.

Yesterday I woke up and the ground was bare. The snow was still beating on Buffalo. But then my phone was ringing. It was Amy. "If it's alright, we're coming to your house," she said. She and Becky had been without power since 11:00 PM. They were freezing. When they woke up that morning—cold and annoyed—they began fantasizing about my house. They thought it would be warm. They thought it would smell good. So they came over.

We spent the day in front of the wood stove. We spent the day watching season two of Lost. We brought out old notes we'd written each other in middle and high school. Later, my dad made hamburgers on the grill. We corked a few bottles of wine and watched the Sabres beat the Red Wings. Greg called. "Just wanted to call and wish you a merry Christmas," he said. "I hope you're outside making snow angels."

This was before we had snow.

But we're getting it now.

Here's what my back porch looks like today, October 14th, 2006:



It's starting.

Here's a view from the front:



This is nothing, of course. Nothing compared to Buffalo, which is in a state of emergency. Out here we've got our power and our heat. Now over 300,000 Buffalo residents don't have power. And the companies are saying they won't have it until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday.

Oh, the hilarity.

At the university where I teach, students are huddled in the student union with their blankets and pillows. There are movies playing. Burgers and chicken fingers are being turned-out around the clock. No one knows what's going on or when it's going to get better.

Amy and Becky just left a few minutes ago. They're making the trek back to their apartment to see about the food that's sitting in their fridge. They're going to see what can be saved. Amy's going to attempt a drive into the city to rescue Hot Rob.

Me? I'm turning up the Christmas music, grading a stack of personal narratives, and thinking how strange this all is. I mean, look at this view from my bedroom:



Those poor apples.