When Will It End

Dear Blog Reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I started writing this from the third floor penthouse of a little apartment building in Long Beach, California. The view was spectacular. We were looking out on 600 yards of sand lovingly groomed to the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Strong winds made for great kite flying. A strong sun and midwestern hardiness made for some back of the legs sunburns. An eclectic beach community made for some great people watching. 

The lovely Miss Beverly and I were on vacation and had tag teamed it with a nephew’s wedding: two birds with one gift so to speak. I do want to give a shout out to Janice, Bev’s sister who put herself out there and went on line and found a great place for 11 of the spawn of Bonnie to get together for the week. You will remember the spawn of Bonnie was described in a recent blog called “Go Your Own Way.” To date, the total stands at 54 of the most intelligent and attractive offspring and in-laws the world has ever known. So 20% is a pretty good start.

But I could not finish the blog. I had all week. The weather was great. The view was fabulous. However, every time I sat down my brain would scream I am not at home. I am turning into more and more of a homebody. I enjoyed the vibe of California, seeing shoppers in Trader Joe’s in shorts, a winter vest, and Uggs. All the while, wiping sweat from my brow because 62 degrees was quite the change from what we had left and what you all were experiencing in that 60 mile wide band of snow that ran from Iowa through Rushville. I am so used to seeing the “bizarre weather picture” from the NE, or tornado alley that I grew a bit nostalgic when the airline passenger took the snow demarcation picture on the Weather Channel over INDIANA.

Four take always from California: 1: I enjoy the time difference. My news queues were all full by the time I woke up because things have been happening for three hours. I also really like that the NCAA games are over in a decent time. 2: You get all of the best fruit and vegetables. Since your strawberries don’t have to travel 2,600 miles they aren’t picked until they are ripe. We ate a lot during the week. Not a one of them were white and the consistency of a ping pong ball. 3: If you live in a place where you think that a high of 62 is a cold snap, do you really deserve a spring break. Toughen up buttercup. You are not going to be eaten by a polar bear in 62 degree weather. 4: I don’t understand the off shore oil drilling kerfuffle. All of your cars (and there are billions of them in the valley) run on gasoline and the off shore rigs are no less unsightly than the 14 cargo ships lined up off shore waiting to unload their cargo to take to an Amazon warehouse to wait until I order that doodad that I will be incensed about if it doesn’t arrive two days later via Prime. Logistics!

As I sit here writing, my phone is warning me of 2 to 3 inches of snow tonight and are not following the warning with “April Fools.”  Speaking of warning, I warned you. Look at my blogs from October. I was telling you to chill out about Augtober. Remember? It was an unusually warm fall. The leaves didn’t turn very much. One day they were hanging there, holding on by their finger tips but still green. The next day they just gave up and fell off. We were sweating and playing golf. The children didn’t have to wear jackets playing soccer. There were no hypothermia cases in local hospitals. I was even temped to start tomatoes to over winter. In fact, we were begging frost to set in to stop the flowers that the lovely Miss Beverly was selling at the Garfield Park farmer’s market. (We are going to be selling there again this year. Saturdays; May through October. All of the profits go to braces for a couple of neighborhood kids whose parents would have a hard time being able to provide them. Nature’s beauty and straight teeth to boot.)

During the middle of talking about Augtober, I admonished everyone not to worry about it. It would all work out. I was sure that we would all be complaining about Janpril. Here we are. We buckled down. We knew that we had to get through March. That horrible month of thaw. One day a week of tolerable weather surrounded by six days of gray, cold, damp weather. Every step off of a sidewalk is into ankle deep mud. The wind is blowing that damp air into the marrow of your bones. We desperately try to remember if the ground hog saw his shadow in Pennsylvania. Then we try to call grandma, “how many more weeks of winter is it until spring if he sees his shadow?” She can’t remember. So we made it though warnings about the Ides of March. We watched the Irish co-opt the stage a couple of days later so the canal, river, or some other similar mud puddle can be turned green. We endured it and more. I don’t blame you. We just want spring to come.

While waiting for that day when the birds are singing, the sun is shining, and the flower’s break their dormancy, we finally succumb to March’s madness. We crawl into our man caves for three weeks. We make sacrifices to our alumni gods and burn them on pyres fueled by the smoke from our busted brackets. And as the good sister’s hopes die with her hopes for her Loyola Chicago, we are faced with another 2 to 3 inches of snow on April 1. This is not an April fools joke. As the announcers of March Madness started to cry when Sister Jean rolled from the floor 2 minutes before the final shot, we start to lose hope. Our reserves from spring break are as faded as our tans.

While it is hard to remember, we are just paying the bill for all of that wonderful Augtober weather. Mother Nature isn’t out to get us. We just get used to a rhythm. We become so habituated to that average that we think we will die if more than the average is to be endured. We are dipping our toes into the far edge of the bell curve. That’s all. We will be okay. Maybe we should learn to adapt like our friends on the Left Coast. We just need to learn to put on our winter vest with our shorts and wear a pair of Uggs to keep our toes warm. And since I am home, maybe throw another log on the fire to be on the safe side.

Take care

Roger