This last week left the latest layer of snow, a good fifteen more inches. We're running out of places to put it all. At least half of our parking spaces on the street are now occupied by 7 foot tall piles of snow.
"Reminds me of Boston," I said to a neighbor and fellow expatriate of our fair city. We were shoveling our adjacent cars out of deep snow drifts and trying to find a place to put the snow.
"Yeah," he said, smiling and added in true Boston fashion, "It's wicked snowy this winter."
Then, forgetting that he was a bit younger than me, I added, "Reminds me of the storm of '78."
His face just went into blank wonderment, and it was a good ten seconds of silence before I realized he might not have been born for that one.
"Or the winter of '92," I said trying to recover.
"Yeah," he said, "I remember school being closed a lot that year."
"School!" I thought to myself, "Oh boy. I was in school in '92, but I was teaching."
We chatted a few more minutes and finished our shoveling. It was amicable, but I felt a little embarrassed.
Everyone has one of those moments when you know you've crossed another of the many thresholds of age. And even though I know I'm still young by many standards, this was one of those moments that made my progress through time feel rougher than normal.
I've looked at that snow out there a little differently this week; I've been thinking how my father was younger in 1978 than I am now in 2011 and the future that I had always imagined so far away as a boy is now upon me like the layers and layers of snow that sit just outside my door.
Winter makes you feel old I've heard people say. I think personally it's time for a little early spring - I'm ready for some younger thoughts.