This is one of my favorite songs, and it happens to be very fitting.
When I wake up, the snow has stopped.
It’s still bright white outside, but with a gray tinge of sludge. The outside world, no longer pristine, is being gradually plowed, trampled and defiled by us, its residents.
I look at the clock: 7:15 a.m. I check my email: campus closed for the second day in a row. I roll over and bury my head back in the pillow.
An hour later I wake up again and reflexively check my inbox. Two emails: One from Jeanne Abbott, my General Assignment editor, and one from Sara Shipley Hiles, my Vox beat editor. Both with the same question: Where are you?!
My GA shift! It started this morning at 8!! I was, dress, slap on makeup, pack up, grab a granola bar and fly out the door. The trek through melting snow is long, cold and a little damp; my boots only come to the ankle.
When I finally get to Lee Hills I’m roughly two hours late. I sign in, flustered, and apologize. Offer to stay two extra hours. Am talked down and assigned a story.
Snow generates a lot of news, especially when it comes as thick and fast as ours. A native Texan, this is my first experience reporting on anything like extreme weather conditions. All of us GA-ers are assigned something that revolves around snow: a story of good samaritans, a story about towing cars, and mine, about traffic on I-70. Joy.
The “hard news” aspect appeals to me though, especially running on as little sleep as I am. I make calls, ask terse questions, write notes, write a story. Easy, quick. It’s already gone to press as I type.
When I leave the newsroom the snow will be there, waiting for me. I love it because it’s beautiful and, now, because it’s newsworthy.