The neighborhood we call Rhode Island was clobbered by the giant n’oreaster that began as flurries Friday morning and cascaded into a blizzard with echoes of 1978, leaving our corner of New England buried under two feet or more of fluffy, plump white drifts.
The storm mixed menace, beauty, inconvenience and biting chill. Thousands of us shivered through Friday and Saturday night in houses bereft of electricity as gusts whipped, thermostats plunged and down parkas were our pajamas. .