Weather

I’ve decided I hate weather. Weather in any form other than sunshine in a cloudless sky.


When I was younger I loved rainy or snowy days; which were perfectly suited for my wallflower, never speak above a whisper personality. I would tuck myself into a corner of a room, select the largest book on the shelf and commence reading. If I was lucky I would either completely lose track of time and read until dinner or fall asleep waking up just in time to go to bed.

Now these gray days bombard me with sadness and agitate me with deep need to right some natural wrong. I daydream of shaking a soggy fist at the gray threatening skies, daring the hail to fall.

That being written, I am still utterly in awe, and not in a good way, at the devastation Joplin’s tornado left in its hard to believe trail. For hours at work last week, I listened quietly as people cried about family members unaccounted for and homes lifted up like broken leaves in a mile-high debris field.

I don’t understand storm chasers. How many of these folks went chasing the storms, racing down the roads with their antenna laden trucks and cars, arms dangling out the rolled down windows, aiming smart phones and miniature video camera at the dark dangling clouds.

Prior to this year’s crazy weather, I would have said I loved experiencing four seasons. I’m now ready to give that up if it meant no more blizzards and no more tornados. Craft stores sell fake fall leaves and silk spring flowers. I’ll fake my seasons, thank you very much.

We’re all becoming weather addicts. My iPhone has as many weather alerts and apps as any other category. I check multiple times a day the anticipated hour of the arrival of rain, or seasonally the drifting of snow.

I’m ready to not care again about the condition of the skies overhead. So I'm warming up the comfy chair and researching retirement home locales. I want boring. Boring temps and boring skies, look out – you’re mine.