State Of Syracuse Weather

Syracuse's mayor presented the State Of The City last night. It was a good show. The speech was held up on the hill with windows overlooking the city. The lights dimmed and the blinds slowly rose revealing the world outside. The plan was for us to see Syracuse's nighttime skyline in panoramic vista. Instead we greeted a wall of white snow.

The mayor could have complained or joked about terrible weather. That's what I'm used to hearing. But he didn't complain and that's a lot of why I voted for and support him. He said it was like we were in a snow globe. Beautiful. He embraced the weather and referred to us as "the titans of winter." Oh, I like that.

At XO Taco prior to the speech, I wrote the following in my notebook:

I'm starting a pro-snow campaign in Syracuse to change the mood. I'm not expecting this to be the mayor's primary initiative. Some things I have to do myself.

If I were mayor, I'd gather the weather reporters and media executives to present the case for changing the talk around the weather, setting a new tone. It's not a conflict of interest like choosing sides in a political race. Just present the weather in a fairer light.

Celebrating the weather will lift the city's mood. We live in winter sometimes from late October until the first days of May. We get a lot of snow. This morning it's nine degrees with a fresh layer of snow and some ice. We can say it's too damn cold or declare that it is nine degrees and people are still out walking, driving, shoveling, beginning their days. We can cheer the DPW for making all the roads safe. We can celebrate a sky that is eggshell blue and bright with sunshine. It really is a beautiful day in our neighborhood.

This reminds me of the push a few years ago in North Dakota to drop North from the state's name. Ridiculous, right? But North sounds and feels colder. South Dakota is in no way tropical, but it sounds more inviting than North Dakota. Dropping North might seem foolish, but it would have a positive effect on the feel of the place. And the feel of something is often much more important than we care to admit.

Here in Syracuse, we don't have to change our name, just shift the tone from being snow victims to becoming snow titans. We can show gratitude for the chance to talk with neighbors as we shovel, to brush off a colleague's car as we wait for ours to warm after work, to come in from the cold and be offered a mug of coffee. We can marvel at how inches, sometimes feet of snow fall, yet the day goes on as if it were spring with cleared roads, open businesses, and a thriving city.

If we hear, see, and read reports celebrating winter, we can begin accepting it. Acceptance is a step toward happiness and happiness is powerful stuff.

I'm pro-snow, pro-winter, and bet your chilly ass I'm pro-Syracuse, the city of winter's titans.

Four Miles

Here's the thing: I can run four miles. It's not tough on me either. This month I've run all of eight miles. The first four were last week with the friend who asked me to run the Shamrock Run with him. We ran the course to get a feel for it again. It has been years since I've run that race. The second four were today at the event after I told him to go ahead and run his own race. I'll meet you at the end. At the gun we weaved in and out of the crowd for half a mile until he went ahead and I settled in.

As usual, I told myself to run your own race. I'm not that interested in the clock, don't have anyone to beat, can't remember my best time on the course and can't be bothered to look it up. What's the point? Instead, I went with how I felt and pushed a little. Not a lot. I ran pretty well.

The Shamrock Run winds over Syracuse's Tipperary Hill, home to the famous upside down traffic light. (You can look it up.) Tipp Hill is, well, hilly and the third mile ends with a slow incline that then turns into a tough climb. As I ran up the incline, two women behind me talked about how they'd heard about this hill and it was killing them. We got to the top of the incline, turned right and the real hill came into view. "Aw shit," one woman said. "I'm going to die now." I smiled facing away from their misery.

I've come to like running hills and tell myself to take what the hill has to give and give the hill what I can. Pithy it ain't, but it's a good reminder on climbs. I went up the hill happily. And Slowly. I'm okay with that. I felt good and strong.

I can run four miles without trouble or training. That's something with which I've been gifted. I'm out of shape, twenty pounds heavy, but had no question that I could run the race well. I'm grateful for that. As Jane Kenyon said, it could have been otherwise.

It makes me wonder what I might be able to do if I really pushed myself. I should find out. But I doubt it would have much to do with running.

Snow After Seventy

Wait, it was seventy degrees yesterday morning. I went for a run with friends and it was almost too warm. Then this afternoon, on the way to Wegmans, snow flurried thick enough I couldn't see beyond the 481 overpass. 

My guess is that most of Syracuse isn't thrilled with this. A day like yesterday gets us thinking spring has arrived despite the calendar and our better sense. I don't listen to weather reports in part because I don't want to hear how terrible a day it will be just because it's not like yesterday. 

Sudden shifts in weather give me hope. Yesterday it was seventy and skies were blue. Now it's below freezing and the world is white. That sudden change is a wonder of Central New York. The skies are grey and that can be tough, but there is something in a snow flurry or storm that delights me still. 

It has me thinking how lives can change like the weather. I've been in the same job for seventeen years and would love some new adventure. I had dinner last night with a former colleague and she looked ten years younger, as if retirement led her to find her true self. I felt happiness radiate off her just as sure as I feel the furnace pushing warm air through the vent at my feet. I was happy for her and wondering how I might sail on the winds of change. 

For years I believed I was trapped and would remain in my job because I had waited too long to make a change. Then the world turns from freezing to seventy and back again and I believe in the powers of change and my own power to make changes. 

I don't know tomorrow's weather or if I'll be in a new job soon, but I was happy in yesterday's warmth and I'm just as happy in this snow. Maybe some new adventure will come or I'll make one. It may snow or thaw. Being okay with all of it begins with enjoying how things are right this minute and expecting things to become only better. 

It was seventy degrees yesterday morning. It's below freezing this afternoon. Anything at all seems possible for tomorrow. That's just the way it ought to be. 

Where I'm At

School is closed. Most of the city, county, and state too. The snow is ridiculous. I've shoveled twice so far. Eight inches have fallen in about six hours. Syracuse, New York in February. 

My neighbor and I took a break from shoveling to talk across the street. "I had the choice to have lunch or shovel. Some choice," he said, leaning on his shovel. He's even more fastidious about hid driveway than I am but nowhere near happy about it. Snow is a bother. The cold too. The driving through all of it. Ugh. 

Our snowblower died and both to save money and be green I decided not to replace it. I've been shoveling and, aside from a bit of soreness, it has been fine. During these storms, I go out often. I'll be out there again within the hour. 

About now, someone says I'm crazy to live here. I understand, but it's not the snow that's toughest. It's the grey skies which I've seen drive people out of their happiness. Still, even under grey skies and feet of snow, I'm happy where I am. 

Really. 

I love snow days and generally like snow even though I don't ski and no longer snow blow (my favorite winter activity). I've begun to enjoy shoveling. The snow is beautiful and I like crazy weather that doesn't involve hurricane winds ripping off the roof or earth suddenly shifting beneath the foundation. Syracuse has tough snow but no disasters. I can deal with tough but try to avoid disaster. 

This is where I have lived. I went away for college and a job, but there was no question where we would raise our children. This is a place where strangers smile when I say hello. They respond, have a good one. And so I have.  

I've chosen where I live, who I am, where I'm going. I chose this city, this life, these friends, this family, this act of writing. I chose all of it and it I've chosen well. When I look closely, I see that it is good. It feels good too. I feel good. 

Friends can't wait until they move to Florida, Arizona, the Carolinas, out of Syracuse. Some sound happy about where they want to go. Others are just sound angry about where they are. I listen and nod. They ask, "where will you go?" I shrug, smile, and say that I'm good here. They ask, really? And I nod. There's not much to say and I've no reason to convince them to stay. It is enough that this is and has been the place for me. 

All of this has less to do with Syracuse, New York than it does with Brian G. Fay. The best thing about getting old is the settling down. As a kid I thought that would be depressing part, but being settled opens doors within me. Knowing where I am, I know better who I am and who I might become. 

It's about time I went out and scraped the driveway again. The snow is still coming hard, another two inches in the driveway. I'll do my neighbors' sidewalks to either side. We help each other out. If someone else is out there shoveling or just walking by, I'll say hello and listen to what they have to say about the storm. I'll smile because I'm standing in my driveway, outside my home, smack dab in the middle of where I want to be. I'll smile because I know where I am right now and it is good. Let it snow. I'll keep shoveling.