Wet Cold
*MY* least favorite weather.
I am receiving picture after picture of snow covered homes and neighborhoods from my friends and relatives who live north and east of me. Your dogs are clumsily tromping around and licking their noses. You are wearing your mittens. These are not social media posts, nor is this a social media rant. I am happy for you all. Envious, happy, all of that.
My younger brother, in response to one of these texts, simply replied, “Rainy and 33*”
This is the worst kind of weather. Yesterday it was 29 and dry. Brisk, even biting (in the wind). I don’t mind that too terribly much, for a season. But as the temperature increased a little and the rain came, I found myself squishing across my front lawn to remove blankets from our vulnerable hydrangeas. Wet and cold.
Not the kind of cold that restructures the calendar, not the kind that puts everyone on alert and therefore we all have the same expectations about what to do and where to do it.
There is something about a weather ‘event’ that I secretly like because it unifies everyone. I wish I could remember where I read it, but I recall someone (maybe in a poem or short story) reflecting on the peace that comes during a snow or even an ice storm knowing that everyone is doing the same thing. Everyone is in their house, staying warm, waiting it out, prepping for power outages, entertaining their kids, re-scheduling things that will need to take place after it blows through. With no intended flippancy, it was also my favorite part about portions of 2020. Maybe it is the ultimate remedy to fomo. You know where everyone is and what everyone is doing.
33, wet, and windy really gets under my skin, and also into my supposedly water-proof gore-tex running shoes that I have taken to wearing all the time. Here I am in my office wiggling my wet-ish toes, wishing for a non-dangerous but restrictive weather event to get everyone talking and everyone cancelling or rescheduling their plans.
