Tonight, March 18, 2004, snow moves toward this area to blanket us with a six inch covering.
Eleven years ago last weekend, snow moves to trap Denise and me at Kevin’s in Philly with several feet during the Flower Show. It takes us eight hours to get home to York a few days later; most major roads are closed and secondary roads are the only way to struggle home.
Sixteen years ago last night I’m meeting my wife Denise for the first time. Hours later in the middle of the night, I’m getting a telephone call from my mother that my grandmother has passed away, a strange twist of kismet.
Seven years ago last week I’m sitting at a bar with Dennis Humphries, an old friend and co-worker. I go home to hear that Denise and I will be welcoming Alyssa Noel Mancuso into the world sometime around Thanksgiving (several months later, we’re choosing the name “Alyssa Noel” after weeks of heavy discussion).
Twenty years ago last week I’m driving down to Texas with Kevin, Bliss, and Terry. A side trip to the Mardi Gras follows days later, where many necklace beads are thrown at us from the parade floats. Four years ago I wonder where the last saved necklace has disappeared to.
Twenty-eight years ago I’m walking with Kevin on top of two feet of snow; the top few inches have hardened into a covering that holds up our twelve year old frames. School is closed again; it’s been closed for most of the last few weeks.
Two days from now I’m driving down to visit Kevin; it’s twenty-eight years later. We’re both forty years old. We’re talking about how slices of time can be just as real years later as when they happen to us in the past.
