Last night, Boston received a skyfull of snow, a dumping measurable only with yard sticks.  In the city there's no place to put the celestial offering, and we are left with side streets clogged like tubes full of old toothpaste.  We spent the day shoveling, packing snow up along the side of the house to try and clear a path for the cars to get out.  The cars can move now, but the street isn't clear and probably won't be for a while.  Around midday, a plow made it halfway up Grant before it became stuck and attracted the help of the entire neighborhood.  Exposed cars tightened the workable space, adding heightened tension to the already stressful situation.  The poor driver was near tears.  As soon as he was free, he backed up as fast as he could and drove away.  There has been no sign of a snow plow on our street since.   Throughout the day, we made our way around the neighborhood, helping push the unfortunate souls, returning home from their police shifts, and the arrogant idiots, who were trying to deliver pizza.  Men were reluctant to take my advice when I offered towels to slip under the wheels for traction.  I learned to let them struggle a while before offering a hand.  One man spent several hours stuck on our street, roasting in the glares of our neighbors who were hoping to keep the street open in case the plow returned.  He accepted my help and followed my instructions, and we maneuvred him out of the trap, only to watch him slide into a deeper rut a few yards down.  He thanked me anyway and proffered forty bucks.  "I feel bad," he said.  "You mentioned you were unemployed."  I couldn't take the money.  "I'm from Wisconsin," I said, by way of explanation.  Hannah and I walked to the grocery store before dinner and saw at least one car abandoned in the middle of each side street.  Meanwhile, on the highways and main thoroughfares, traffic was zooming around like money passing through the hands of the privileged.  Public transit is closed until Monday.  My only hope of getting to the aiport for my ten o'clock morning flight lies with the taxi services, none of whom are answering my phone calls.  Thanks for the unforgettable send-off, Boston.