Long-time follower, first-time writer.
What the what, man? Last week was my “spring” break, and all I managed to accomplish was to catch up on two full seasons of 30 Rock. Shaking off the disappointment of last week’s weather and determining to plan for Easter, I “emerged reluctantly, but alertly” from my home this morning to find snow on my plants. (See above photo.) Blerg!
Here’s the thing. I spent four years in Southwest FL where I grumbled continuously about the weather. “I don’t mind summer,” I’d say. “In fact, I love summer. Just not for 10 months out of the year!” I’d usually follow with a whine, “I . . . miss . . . the . . . seeeeasons!” Big D’s ears (Big D is my husband) were bent most by this topic, covered with Groundhog Day-like repetition until the day we moved.
Now he’s starting to ask questions. “Where are all these seasons I was promised?” he said to me the other day. And I’ve got to admit, even I can no longer find reasons to defend the long, cold-weather days. I’m tired of wearing layers, man. I’m tired of running the heater. I’m tired of cold toes. And do you know how hard it is to play piano with cold, stiff fingers?
I realize you don’t make the weather, you only predict it – and everyone makes mistakes. Please, please just tell me that this job still means something to you after all these years. We look up to you (figuratively speaking, of course), and we need to know you take this seriously. Even though winter’s barometric pressure is lower than summer’s, we’re all beginning to crack under it a little. (I mean, literally crack. My skin is a nightmare.)
Ever a fan, I still hope to get up to see you on your “big day” one of these years. I realize you’re taking a lot of heat right now for not bringing the heat, so take good care of yourself. Watch your back. And better luck next year watching your shadow!
Wondering in Winterland
– A.K.A. Noted in Nashville