ORCHARD PARK, N.Y. — If I meditated — an indulgence I’ve deferred from one “to do’’ list to another the last 30 years — I’m sure it would be a lot like my recent Thursday afternoon here on a hill just south of Buffalo.
I went sledding. My wife, son, and even our dog came along, all of us shouldering in among some 250 others who came to Chestnut Ridge carrying sleds of all shapes, sizes, colors, and materials. A foot of snow fell overnight and it flurried the whole time we were there — a sign, everyone agreed, that we were born for that moment and meant to be there. Or something ridiculously 1980ish like that.