A keyboard. How quaint.

Odd nausea, fading in and out, has marked the day. I don't know where it's coming from, but I feel like I should write it down somewhere. I drank a pot of ginger tea and I'm hoping it kicks in soon.

In other news, because I didn't want it to be the last Michael Mann movie I haven't seen, I started watching Public Enemies, and it's quite something how the last few years make it easy to see John Dillinger as a duplicitous, murdering criminal no matter the face he puts on for the public.

It was beautifully quiet today. The snow helped, of course, and the snow was the cause - people staying home, cars not getting driven, taxis not cruising for passengers. Helicopters and planes staying on the ground. It took me a while to realize I wasn't hearing the usual sounds. When the snow let up and people started driving again, I honestly felt resentful that the travel ban wasn't going on longer. It'd been a nice glimpse into a quieter New York City. I feel like that's how it always is. Just a glimpse of a better world.

Or at least, a moment to resettle so I can realize just how noisy the West Side Highway really is. I went down to the park to walk a bit in the afternoon, after the snow stopped, and I don't mind noise from kids that are shouting about how happy they are or what a good time they're having when they're sledding down a big hill, or noise from people talking about an inflatable toy's weight limit before sledding down the big hill themselves. Human voices. There were a couple of shrieks right near me for some reason, and of course a very loud barking dog that its owner insisted was friendly, and overall, just nice sounds of people.

I had my headband on and my hood up, and both those things helped muffle the world. The coat itself was warm enough that when I lay back in the snow, twice, I stayed comfortable enough to settle in for a little bit. Not many minutes, but enough time to measure on a stopwatch, easily.

There were several taped-off CAUTION areas around fallen trees and threatening branches, and I found it wonderful that people had already made a single-file path underneath one of the trees in between the branches - sticking as close to the path that the tree had fallen over as best they all could. Ducking down to get under and through. A little ways away there was a bower made from bushes bent over with snow that also provided something of a roof, and some parents took pictures of their kids hanging out in there and posing at the entrance. It made for a nice echo of both adults and children doing more or less the same thing, if on different scales. The intent of play was close enough to call it the same.

There were snow men, snow women, snow people, and snow animals. There were snow structures made from hand packing it and snow structures made from using plastic bins to mold sturdy bricks. There was a moment I saw the sky start to come out and felt a pang of disappointment because it meant the day was moving on from the storm. I'd fallen back into the snow already then, and made a point to do it a second time. If I'd been more careful with my legs not getting wet, I'd have lain there a while longer. But I knew the day was going, so I might as well go, too, so I wouldn't have to see it end.

Trying to clear my calendar and hunker down for the next few days in light of the storm had me allowing myself a little bit of panic buying in the form of another bottle of olive oil. It's not on the same level as rescheduling an appointment because I know there's no point trying to get anywhere farther than two blocks, maximum, come Monday, but it helped a bit.

I'm also charging up my devices as something of an insurance policy and made sure to return all my outstanding library checkouts. Again, something that only helped a bit, and still helped. Mostly I'm now waiting for it to arrive so I can finally enjoy the snow. The build-up to it isn't nearly as enjoyable.

I took advantage of the day and took in a small William Eggleston exhibition. I started reading Clockers on the way there and a book that commanding of my attention put me in the right frame of mind to take in the colors. And the colors were why it was there - it's called The Last Dyes because these prints, the ones I saw today, were made with the world's last materials for this kind of printmaking. Kodak decided to stop making the necessary materials for the process some decades ago. I don't know if it was for cost, environmental concerns, lack of a market, another reason, or a mix of several. What I can say is that all the critics were right: knowing that going in gave it an autumnal feeling. Something fading out.

They were also right that it's astonishing to see the colors up close. More than once I got as close as I could to take in the depth of blue or red or green, thinking that it was like seeing paint made from crushed-up gemstones. The intensity of color, the intentions of the lines and shapes. I'm happy to watch his fascinations with what makes America tick, and I was very happy to stop and look close and then step back and look far and take in all the different parts and pieces in the compositions. More than once I looked at something off in the distance and then farther in the distance and saw how it was a reflection of something in the foreground. Walls and fences at a parking lot. The swirl of a sign matching the clouds behind it. The flowers, the fence, the truck, the houses peeking out.

What really struck me was how the outdoor photographs had such good distance to them. There wasn't a horizon but there was clarity to a long ways away, and more than once I'd think that this was human influence as far as the eye could see. The tilled fields. The cars off in the far distance. The car right up in front of you that you couldn't look away from even if you wanted to see the stream just beyond it. Forcing you to pay attention to what's really there.

The day's major activity was sending out some emails and texts to try to coordinate future plans. I'll probably have to send them again in a day or two, given the track record of trying to get some of these plans together - especially my brothers in regards to setting a schedule and keeping to it. My parents are presently traveling and my younger brother offered to host Friday night dinner this week, but beyond the offer, nothing's been said so far. I sent out a message this morning and all I got was a promise there'd be some coordination.

It doesn't fill me with hope, especially not without a timetable. It's not that I have anything else going on so much as I'd like to know what little might be happening so I can at least figure out what kind of nothing I might be doing.

Managing 2.1 miles in 30 minutes isn't anywhere near a personal best, and after some weeks of the elliptical and of not trying for more than 1.75 miles in 30 minutes, it's something I think is decent. It's a nice reminder that I'm still capable.

Less pleasant is that for a few days, I've somehow gotten this weird cut on the inside of my nose, way in the back. I'll wake up with dried blood crusted in my nostril or blow my nose in the morning and there's flecks of blood. If this is a side effect of something I was prescribed to deal with the ear canal blockages, I'm going to be both astonished at the synergy of the whole tube system and annoyed I'm going to have to schedule another appointment with the ENT to try something else.

Earlier this week, I learned there's a squirrel nesting on the roof of a nearby empty house. A squirrel on a sidewalk less than a block from a park isn't unusual; a squirrel running away from the park is worth noticing. It ran along the concrete until it got to a tree, and about halfway up the trunk I saw it had some nesting materials in its mouth. Sticks, dried grass, nothing that could be mistaken for food. It went all the way up the trunk, well past where there'd be room to nest inside the tree, and jumped into the thin, empty branches, running along and over and finally making one last jump from the tree onto a row house that's been on the market for more than a few months at this point. Long enough a squirrel would feel safe nesting somewhere on the roof.

Yesterday, I got to feed a few urban pigeons after a couple of grizzled old-school construction workers were generous with the birdseed they'd brought with them that morning; none of the pigeons flew onto my hands, but a particularity bold one kept grabbing at my fingers, possibly to pull my hand closer so it'd be first in the pecking order.

Today, I saw a raven; it was close enough to see every tail feather, and make out the distinctive spade shape. Also to see how utterly gigantic they are compared to a lot of other birds. It was carrying some kind of food item in its beak, but I couldn't make out what it was, just that it'd been opportunistic and scavenged it from a garbage bin.

You've got to keep your eyes open for these things.