I remember my Mom nagging me about wearing a coat. “Aren’t you gonna wear a coat?” That meant it was probably cold out and that was as close to a weather report as I felt I needed.
When I got out on my own, weather was a low priority. Somehow, knowing what the weather was yesterday and quickly glancing out the window to what I was headed out to, told me everything I needed to know. I didn’t own a raincoat or an umbrella. Well, technically I “owned” a borrowed umbrella that I never returned and it lived in the trunk of my car for years.
I would get wet, or be too hot or too cold, but it barely registered. I’m not even sure what I thought about weather, except it was something my parents talked about. A lot.
In time, my own weather experiences accumulated like a slow falling snow. Rain ruined a good pair of shoes. I arrived at an important meeting over-dressed and covered in sweat. I stood way too many times outside of bars shivering my ass off waiting to get inside.
And, to quote Paul Simon, one day I said, “I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore.”
Weather is available all over the internet, and remains the safest topic is discus with strangers…Provided everyone keeps their traps shut about global climate change. I do try to keep up, even pulling up the radar for the local area and making bets with myself as to if and when it will rain where I am standing. (I’m wrong a lot!)
Over the past couple of years, the weather here in Cincinnati has been wildly unpredictable. It feels like Tennessee or North Carolina weather, which is fine if you live in Tennessee or North Carolina. Trees and flowers bloom at different times then what’s written in nature books, I treat my garden for emergent weeds in February, and big snowstorms are becoming rarer and rarer. The temperature is 60 degrees when in should be 30, and just as I acclimate to 60, it really does go down to 30…with blustery wind. And I’m not ready for any of it.
I now check the weather every day, like a mature adult, and still wear the wrong coat (too heavy or too light). I see it’s not “supposed to” rain for hours so I pop out to the store only to be caught in a torrential rain. I keep reaching for my winter wool and keep putting in back on the shelf unworn because it’s too warm in January. Just as I decided to take the weather seriously, it decided to start playing jokes.
Nothing Ever Happens on My Street 