Back from the Big Apple.

I've been thinking about how to sum up the weekend in New York. Not surprisingly, the first word that comes to mind is "cold." But the trip has left me with a warm, fuzzy feeling that is not simply coming from the fabulous shearling coat my grandmother foisted upon my shivering self and generously allowed me to appropriate permanently. No, the glow results from the wonderful experience of "meeting" for the first time a group of people who truly are old friends.

From the first few moments of our initial rendez-vous (at a trendy bar on the Upper West Side) to a final goodbye shared with Kirstin (who was changing planes in Denver), our gathering was filled with camaraderie and easy conversation, empty of awkwardness or "getting to know you" pleasantries. And there was something powerfully liberating about roaming the City with a crowd of fellow deaf and hard-of-hearing people, laughing together as we shared the hassles of communication and navigation with which we each wrestle daily on our own.

I also wandered around New York on my own a bit, zipping around on the subway and strolling along the frozen streets. While I have no desire to live in New York, and find its concrete intensity draining after a while, it is the perfect weekend destination, particularly for someone who knows the City as well as I do. Whenever I spend time in New York, my senses are heightened by a barrage of visual, auditory, and olfactory stimuli. And for a non-driver like me, New York offers complete independence. On Saturday night, we left the apartment of one of the NY-based DeafGAers well after 2:00 a.m. After saying goodbye to the rest of the group, I walked alone the few blocks back to my grandmother's apartment. Even at that hour, the streets were well-lit and busy, as taxis whizzed down Broadway, elderly women in fur coats walked tiny dogs, groups of boisterous 20- and 30-somethings spilled out of the bars, and a black-hatted Hassidic man hurried past me carrying the Sunday New York Times. It was hugely empowering to be able to walk home alone at such an hour of the night without fear of darkness or danger.

Appropriately for a New York weekend, most of my time was spent eating. I enjoyed greasy fries and chicken fingers at Madison Square Garden while watching the Buffalo Sabres (and my favorite ex-Av Chris Drury) pound the NY Rangers. I shared tasty sushi in SoHo with the rest of the "girls" on Saturday afternoon (the boys ate pizza). I had eggs and a bagel at a classic Greek-owned diner for brunch on Sunday. And on Saturday night, my dear friend Karen and I had an exceptionally good meal at 50 Carmine, a new restaurant in the West Village that recently was profiled in the New York Times Magazine. On our way to the restaurant, I picked up some tasty gifts for Steve (and enjoyed some tastes myself) at renowned fromagier Murray's Cheese and olive-oil gourmand Oliviers & Co. As far as I'm concerned, New York is a gastronomic paradise, and every time I visit I wish I was a six-foot-seven NBA player capable of consuming the copious calories that call my name from every corner.

In addition to gathering with my DeafGA buddies, I spent some quality time with my grandmother, particularly over coffee and toast in the mornings. As always when I am with her, I was floored by her vitality and struck by how very much of her personality I see in myself.

And now I am home, where the sun is shining and the mountains sport a dusting of fresh snow. It's not exactly warm out here, but this morning's chill felt almost balmy after a weekend of 20-degree weather in New York. I'd forgotten how insidiously that east-coast cold creeps under your skin and chills your bones. That part of the weekend I won't be missing!