gratitude-a-thon day 550: the forecast

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Cheryl Roegner of the North End neighborhood of Boston, sits in the sun and the snow on a bench in Paul Revere Mall next to a snow sculpture she says she did not have a hand in making, Sunday, Feb. 10, 2013 in the North End neighborhood of Boston. (Gene J. Puskar/AP)

Perhaps I have underplayed the winter weather that’s been happening here (you know how subtle I can be). Maybe, for those of you who are lucky enough not to live here, I’ve not given you an appropriate lay of the land.

We are buried in fucking snow.

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There’s nowhere to park. That is, if you can even get your car out.

We are surrounded by walls of white. Our yards are filled, our streets are narrowed, our souls are weary. We wield not only shovels, but axes and hoes to cut through ice. We have 95.7 inches of snow. We are tired of our boots. We are down on our coats. We no longer have any gloves that match. We have icicles (the size of NASA’s finest) on our houses that threaten to kill our savings, or anybody who might be walking by when one decides to fall. We can no longer rely on public transportation. We are cranky, and short-tempered, and mean to even the nicest people. We are giving our dogs too many treats because we are too cold to take them on  longer walks (ok, maybe this is just me).

We are dreaming of vacations, where someone will serve us fruity drinks by a pool overlooking the ocean. We are googling real estate in sunny climates. We are wondering how we got here, to the Tundra, without consent.

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Chris Laudani, a bartender at Back Bay Social and an avid runner, has been revealed as the mystery man who was photographed as he shoveled snow off the iconic Boston Marathon finish line during Tuesday’s raging blizzard.

But, we are Boston. A little snow won’t keep us down for long. We will rise up, (well, I might not, but most of us will). We will count the days until the magnolia trees line Marlborough Street, and Marathon Monday announces spring. We will crowd the Charles on bikes and feet, and skateboards. We will throw on our sunglasses and saunter down Newbury Street. We will applaud the Sox as they open up Fenway. We will hit the waterfront, eat outside, glory at the swan boats. We will savor every moment of warmth and sun, remembering the mornings of zero degree temperatures and  perpetual forecasts of snow. We will survive. We will get through. That’s what we do, in this town. Don’t forget we are Boston Strong (not be be confused with Boston Warm), this is nothing.

 

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