Before I moved to Southern California, with its “72 and sunny” Januaries, every Illinois winter brought the promise of a snow day, that delightful disaster every schoolkid hopes will come whenever the forecast calls for heavy precipitation and temperatures drop below freezing. Regardless of its perils, a snow day meant a full-stop shutdown, an interruption of the daily routine, and a forced perspective shift from whatever you were doing to gazing out the window at a city blanketed white, roads unmarked by school buses, classrooms empty, snow angels and forts to be made. So, from Illinois to Iowa to New York, every winter in my heart I always hoped for one.
Now, having spent much of my adult life in L.A., I no longer hold out for such inclement interruptions, but…
