If you live in the Northeast like me, then you probably just awoke from a snowdrift haze perhaps misleadingly named Nemo . The name conjures up images of cute clownfish or at least something cuddly, but after some 24” of powder, I don’t have that warm fuzzy feeling. This 3 day stanza was a time for grunt work, vacillation and dare I say rumination in the wake of our latest storm system.
I know, I know…I should wax poetic about Kelly Rowland’s dress at the Grammy’s or the Paterno family’s ill-conceived crusade, but let’s talk about…nothing. I’ve always had a Seinfeldian streak to me, but being essentially shut-in for an early February weekend brought me back to my cold cereal days, so to speak. I can remember days of yore when snow days were like mini-vacations; surprise gifts if you will. But this one wasn’t quite that. Cue the fog machine and harp as I drift back some 3 days (and some 17 years at points) into memory. After slogging through slow traffic back into Western MA that Friday evening, like a well-adjusted um, blogger I headed straight to the package store. With the roads closed by 4pm, I knew I’d be in for the night. The problem was, it was already 3:30pm, but luckily the phones still work. So, like any self-respecting, vaguely young single man…I texted random women in my phonebook.
Why the shot in the dark, you ask? Because I have no friends. Not in the de facto sense but in the practical sense. I’ve had the same best friends for about 20 years but now have to make an appointment to reach them. And no, they’re not executives. After wives, babies, work and fatigue…I’m left with the friends who party too much, are depressing or wanna hold a few bucks. So, I often roll solo. Not that I’m complaining or anything. As an only child I’m used to solitude, but when you’re snowed in for basically 3 days you could use a little company. This weekend reminded me of high school snow days when my friends and I would bunker in with coffee, junk food and video games. If that were an option today, the coffee would make me jittery, the junk food would expand my waist and the video games wouldn’t be as fun. So, that leaves my Rolodex of women that didn’t want me ten years ago. How’d my random texts go? As expected. Between trite hellos came choice words questioning my motives. Fair enough.
So, what’s the point? I told you there wasn’t one. Well, maybe one; that vague youth is becoming more and more opaque. Remember when your grandparents said the pastries at Dunkin’ Donuts don’t taste as good as they used to? This is what they’re talking about . Well, DD cut the sugar years ago, but nevermind that. Grammy and Grampy were not talking about confectionary quality per se, they were ostensibly talking about things not being the same. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; my daily driver is perhaps better than any car I’ve ever owned. Still, appliances aside, that youthful exuberance is what I miss. I won’t engage in revisionist history here, the good ole days weren’t necessarily all that great but it’s about the journey and not the destination isn’t it? Sometimes, I think I’d trade the fatalism of today for yesterday’s unrealistic optimism but who am I kidding? The truth is, I’m risk averse and hated studying when I had to. The women that never liked me were actually attractive back then, which for a neurotic guy means that sense of loss was even greater. Suddenly, sweating through my thermals after 7 hours of shoveling snow off my ramshackle property “ain’t all that bad”.