This weekend's snowstorm (which I learned wasn't actually a blizzard, and shouldn't be referred to as "Nemo") dumped 24.9 inches on Boston—the fifth biggest snowfall in more than 100 years, and shut down the T for 2.5 days. It is also the biggest single snowstorm Ian or I have ever experienced (the winter of 2010/2011 was more of a three-month marathon than two-day sprint).
We headed to work Friday morning already knowing we would be leaving early. The T was shutting down at 3:30 p.m. and the mayor was closing roads to all but emergency vehicles.
The snow was picking up by the time we arrived home, and we hunkered down on the sofa with hot chocolate and blankets as we waited out the storm with a Battlestar Galactica marathon (Ian's choice, for the record). Later that evening we paused between episodes to experience the storm. Despite the wet, driving snow, we spotted a few other intrepid explorers already enjoying the 12 inches and counting: a father and son in the park with skis, and a handful of teenage boys sledding down the hill next to the little league field.
By the time the snow stopped falling Saturday afternoon, the sun was out and so were we. We laced up our trusty L.L. Bean boots and headed out to explore.
Sidewalks became mazes with walls of snow, the shoveled paths weaving back and forth, stopping abruptly, and turning you out into the street before picking up again at the next property line. Entrances notched into snowbanks were almost imperceptible behind piles of yet more snow, magically appearing as you approached.
We thankfully did not lose power, making this storm more fun than hassle. It's nice to feel like a kid again.