Saturday, November 26, 2016

11.21.16 Whininess with weather


     I don't know about everybody else, but we New Englanders seem to really enjoy embracing our inner whiningness when it comes to weather. When it's really hot and humid, we just go on and on about how, well, hot, and humid it is. As sweat pours down our bodies, as we lament the mold and mildew, as we rush from one air-conditioned place to another.
     When it's starting to get cold, we love gathering together, at bus stops or stores, fear mongering. Yes, we love that. Always talking fearfully about whether that hurricane is going to get here ( it won't ) or if we're going to lose our power with this snowstorm (possibly) or how much snow we're going to get tomorrow.
     We love whining and complaining and obsessing and competing and comparing. 
     We were like that way long before there were weather channels on TV. 
     Now I have no idea what people do, but I'm imagining they're on and off their little smart phones every other second, check check checking the weather.
     I noticed the other day, when my husband and I were trying to figure out if we should buy a new car battery today or could wait till his next paycheck, and we both went on our phones, pushing that little button that has the sun in the cloud, to check out what the anticipated temperatures would be. Then we caught sight of each other, and laughed. What a funny age.
     Gradually, a good number of people we have known, mostly older relatives and neighbors from other places, have made that leap to move to Florida. I don't know if we can ever afford to do it, and anyways, I think I'm just too enthralled here. Yeah, I get that as we get older, navigating the ice and snow, getting to the car, hoping it doesn't slip and slide or you don't fall, are all realities.
But I scarcely can imagine myself living someplace where the sun shine every day ( yuck. How uninspiring ) , where there are few surprises when it comes to weather.
I think instead I'll probably learn to adapt to my surroundings, to my increasing age and the realities. 
     Figure out somebody to do the snowblowing, when we can't. Maybe erect some kind of double fence, so I can hang on tight all the way to my car. Make sure to go out with some kind of cleats on every single winter day. Find that way to save up for that woodstove and have some wood on hand each fall, for when the power does go out.
     One real advantage to where I live is that our house is pretty close to the source of electricity. You know how when you're further away, if a line goes down, you're out of luck, you and everybody down from you. We're usually exempt from this.
     And when push comes to shove, there is a fireplace here. And a gas stove. An old fashioned grill to lug out of the snow and into he back outdoor hallway. 
     When we have a day like today, late November, and there is a chill cutting wind that isn't even below 30 yet. When the clouds are whipping around in the sky, and the birds are waking up to what's about to happen, somehow I feel this overpowering love. Of life. Of weather. Of history. 
     For those who've gone before. For those who will follow us here, after we are gone. 
     When weather arrives on the scene and makes no doubt about the fact that we must deal with it, I feel brought to the present moment. Front and center. No slouching around.      Somehow acutely grateful, in the midst of acutely powerful weather.

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