Crystalline chill

What Denver needs, I have decided, is Anna Wintour*. Someone needs to shake this cowtown and tell it not to wear white after Labor Day.

In other words, yes, it's snowing again here. And where heat is bad, cold is worse. Its tiny tines poke me everywhere, damn the layers and heavy coats and three pairs of socks. I curse my sensitivity to cold as well as my apparent inability to keep a pair of gloves for more than a couple of months. I'm worse than the children on that score.

There are things I like about the snow: the faultless, ghostly drape stretched across the horizon; its eerie, tinkly sound as it falls; the renewing romance of it, the feeling that everything somehow will be clean underneath (even though, of course, nothing could be farther from the truth). Snow is best enjoyed from inside, behind a window, under a blanket and with a cup of coffee or tea.

As far as Kathleen's post goes, I'm so glad she feels at home in New York. I knew she would. Maybe I just left too much behind, or, as I've said before, maybe I just haven't found my "home" yet. Funny enough, even though we were there for a few days, I really liked Austin, Texas. I liked the people and the places and the outrageous, grandiose, constantly slightly hilarious Texasness of it all. Good music, good beer, Molly Ivins, Willie Nelson, Kinky Friedman and bats: Austin had it all. Ah, maybe one day.

*Here in Denver, we do have our own version of Anna Wintour in Brandi Shigley, but she snowboards, and I'm pretty sure she would throw any and all arbitrary fashion edicts out the window of her Capitol Hill flat.