Weather Rules: 2020 Edition

I don’t make the rules. 

Apparently.

My understanding of the weather was that it followed certain basic patterns—rules, if you will.

Rule #1: It starts raining in earnest in November and does not stop until April.

Rule #2: The prior rule maybe superseded by periods of snow.

Rule #3: The rains, from April to July, turn to showers and may be periodically interrupted by the sun. Or snow.

Rule #4: Summer—warm to hot, day after day of sunshine, no rain—you know, SUMMER? Summer begins on July 5^th—unless July 5^th falls on a weekend, then summer begins on the following Monday and runs—WITHOUT RAIN—until the second weekend in August, (Logger’s Jubilee, for the uninitiated) which **may** have a shower or two. THOSE ARE THE RULES.

Imagine my dismay to find Mother Nature flagrantly flouting this time-honored tradition! What use are rules, if she’s not going to follow them? Why was I so stoic all thru June, if not to be rewarded with WALL TO WALL SUNSHINE in July? How will I grow enough zucchini to menace my friends and family?

Last week, I started wondering if maybe we shouldn’t unplug Mother Nature, count to ten, and then plug her back in. Something was clearly WRONG. Since I didn’t know where her power cord plugged in, I had to settle for percussive maintenance, and stomped around, muttering under my breath.

That seems to have worked—based on all the happy little sunshine icons my phone weather app is now showing me for the foreseeable future. You’re welcome. But it got me to thinking—perhaps I should run as an alternative candidate to Mother Nature? I’m mildly qualified—I’m a mom, I love nature, except for the part where the mama lion eats the baby gazelle. Or the part where she **doesn’t** and then goes back to her starving babies. Clearly, that part needs improving. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Oh, sure, if I get the job I know I’ll have to put up with people complaining all the time; “Snow, I love snow, more snow.” Or “I like it cooler, could we take the temperature down a few degrees?” Or “Last week was perfect, can we just have last week all the time?”

Fine. If you like your weather, you can keep your weather, I promise. But for the rest of us—I’ll just lay out some Weather Rules, and since we all know what to expect—NO COMPLAINING.

Once upon a Time on Facebook

“It’s time for the American people to take back our USA!”—Facebook Post

Take back “our America...Take it back, from—whom? Who came and stole our America? Perhaps we gave it away—traded it for some magic technology beans, for bread and circuses; for stuff, and things, and more.

Perhaps our American ran away from home, got sick of our nonsense and longed for the open road. “YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF AMERICA!” she cried. Doors slam. Windows break. Tears. Tear gas. Broken bodies of those who would have justice—to whom equality is just a dream. America, struggling to grow up.

Where does our America live? What zip code does she call home? Does America have a home? Homeless America, too many of us, broke or sick, addicted, or haunted.

Or is it the American Road Show—appearing contentious, unable to stay on one continent—circling the globe—fighting her demons, but doing it abroad. Our America, her better angels taking flight…missiles by dawn’s early light. And when we come home, our demons come with us.

Our America you say? What does she look like?

Seriously. I wonder if I know her at all.

Our America. When was she ours?

When we waded ashore and wrapped up her First Peoples in blankets of death? Was she ours, when we built her with blood and sweat, from the ground up? The blood and sweat and stolen labor of people we enslaved? Was she ours then?

When was America our America? When did she stop? When we grabbed her by the —-?? Well, you get my drift. But she was asking for it. Wasn’t she?

We made America great! Once? What did that look like, I wonder? When America was great, when she was ours, when —when was that, exactly? When did she stop?

America, “My America,” is more an idea, than ideal. My America is still becoming—she is still being born, and some times, brother, let me tell you—-birth is messy. It is bloody, it is sh***y, and beautiful, and painful, and all of those things at once.

I don’t want to take her back—I want to push forward. I want some thing BIGGER. I want something BETTER than whatever “same as it ever was” was like.

I want an Our America —for All of Us.

Happy Birthday America.

Thinking of Lanston Hughs--Let America Be America Again
https://poets.org/poem/let-america-be-america-again

July Weather Rules

It is true what they say about the weather. Don’t like it? It’ll change. First it was too dry—in March!--, then it was too rainy. Then it was July and the Weather Rules were *supposed* to kick into action.

Everyone knows that in the Pacific Northwest—specifically eastern Lewis County—summer does not reliably arrive until after the first week in July. Odds are, July 4^th will be a bit rainy, but as soon as we get it behinds us—full bloom summer. Unless July 5^th falls on a weekend. If it does, the weather could remain rainy, but NO MATTER WHAT-- the sun is guaranteed to come out on the first Monday after the 4^th of July holiday. IT’S A RULE. NO RAIN AFTER JULY 5. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT.

Statistically speaking, this is a FACT. A warm, dry, beautiful, sunny fact...

Pre-rain petunias

It is after July 5. I woke up to rain this morning. I am not amused. My petunias are not amused. I’m ready to write a strongly worded letter to the weather gods and tell them just what I think about this unconscionable turn of events. I recall what Mark Twain said about statistics: There are lies, damn lies and then there are statistics. I do not find this at all comforting. The wording in my letter becomes a bit more pointed and saltier. I realize I have no idea what sort of postage is required to send a letter to the weather gods. There is a great deal of heavy sighing and consulting of the weather app on my smart phone. Looks like rain will remain for the next couple of days, possibly some partial sun on Friday. **sigh**

Well, at least rain is prime Slug Hunting Weather. Put on your gloves, grab your jug of salty water, and go out and collect the slimy lil’ buggers. Nothing like a little vengeance as a pick-me-up.

Chronic Weather Whiplash

You may remember that last year I was diagnosed last with a very serious condition---true, it was a self-diagnosis, but none the less valid. I’m pro self-diagnosis: the waiting room is less crowded, the magazines are better, and it’s less scary than googling stuff on WebMD. Self-diagnosis comes with fewer yucky pictures. So, in short, self-diagnosis is like regular diagnosis, only with less. And the co-pays are surprisingly affordable.

According to Wikipedia—or at least it was once I uploaded the definition—Weather Whiplash is what happens to you when the weather moves from one extreme to the other in a short period of time. The weather is careening from Cold and Damp, to Hot and Miserable, and back again, with very few stops at Mild and Lovely along the way. SPOILER ALERT: Mild and Lovely is my preferred weather destination. That’s where I like to summer. Please forward my mail.

As I said last year, there is no known cure for Weather Whiplash---although if y’all wanna start a Go Fund Me, YouTube Marathon Fund Raiser, I’m open to the idea—as Guest of Honor, of course. But short of that, the only thing we can do is treat the symptoms and wait for July 5th when summer begins...

Eh. That’s the rub. Mother Nature is not following the Rules of the Known Universe as Understood by Sue. The weather is allowed to be iffy right up to---and sometimes including—July 4th. But unless July 5th falls on a weekend, you can count on Full Blown Summer arriving on that week. Those are the Rules.

July 5th happens, rain goes away, Summer settles in, I drink iced tea on my deck whilst enjoying the blooms. That’s. How. It. Works. The rain stays away until some random day in August—often Jubilee weekend, but it can’t be helped—we might get a little sprinkle. Then right back to sun, sun, sun, all the time.

July 5th is now in the rearview mirror, but the windshield wipers are on up front. I’m drinking hot tea, inside, instead of iced tea, outside. I’m using commas recklessly and threatening to wear wool socks—WITH MY FLIP-FLOPS.

Things are dire indeed.