New York City got twenty-odd inches of snow on Sunday, and the city’s plows have thrown tons of white powder off the streets and onto our parked cars. Five-foot banks of snow have settled on either side of the sidewalks too, and our dog Chester is confused. Nothing smells familiar.

I avoided the snow nearly all day. The Chattering boys went sledding in the park with their father after breakfast, and I stayed busy in the house managing laundry, bills, homemade Valentine’s cookies, hot chocolate, and meals. I kept thinking–in my chattering way–that I should climb though the hatch and sweep the snow off the skylights on our roof. The last time we had a snow this deep, water leaked through. But when I never managed to get up there, I just figured, like Scarlett O’Hara: oh well, “tomorrow is another day.”

Later, as the clouds turned pink at dusk, I walked our dog down the middle of the street. The clarion bells of the nearest church began to play “Be Thou My Vision,” which stunned me because it’s a hymn I love.

“Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.”

Only then, did I take a deep breath, my first of the day. Earth to Amy: Tune in! My 91-year-old father is still not well. Two weeks ago, just two days after I left South Carolina, he fell backwards down concrete stairs. The pain in his lower back is excruciating now, he says. He struggles to get out of bed, and though he went to his church today, he stayed seated for all the hymns. If it were me, I’d have my gang of new age healers at my bedside, laying on their hands. But Dad’s not into any of that stuff. So he’s been on muscle relaxers and Excedrin P.M.

“Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.”

I realized at that moment, listening to the bells and walking the dog, that all day I had been worried about my father, but that I’d effectively disguised my distress to everyone, even myself. I’d spent a whole day draped in a busy Mom’s disguise.

Meditation teacher Reggie Ray has an “earth breathing” meditation on his excellent “Meditating with the Body” CD set. As I walked, I tried to recollect it. I tuned into the peace of the earth under the snow, first at a depth of one foot, and then down several feet more. I began to think about the soil, and the coming spring, about how a hard freeze and big snow like this is good for the trees and flowers. I breathed my awareness of the soil up into my abdomen, then sent my awareness back down.

What omens do snow storms offer? Spring will come, I know. Many things about me, my family, and my father’s future are guaranteed, but how they’ll play out specifically is such a mystery.

Inside the house, coverage of the Olympic Games–so loud and garish–was on TV. The “earth breathing” had been effective in grounding me, making me real, but as I went in, I wasn’t sure if I’d maintain my newfound authenticity, or even if I wanted to hold onto it.