Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
Ever hear the lyrics to The Theme from MAS*H?
“Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize, and then I see…”
THIS is why I avoid early morning fog. And early mornings in general. You never know when there’s going to be fog. I don’t want to take any chances.
I heard another ad on the radio. I think it was for a business selling windows. The ad said “Our area has a lot of severe weather. Hot. Cold. Whatever.”
I’m used to the hot and cold. It’s the whatever that scares me.
“Boy, the weather is really bad outside.”
“What is it doing?”
“I CAN’T EVEN TELL.”
I keep telling myself “The seasonal average for April is four inches of snow. The seasonal average for April is four inches of snow…”
This is my version of Dorothy clicking the heels of her ruby slippers together and repeating “There’s no place like home.”
Oh, now you’re picturing ME in ruby slippers. STOP THAT.
Woohoo!
82!
I am going to start a Central New York exercise plan where you do as many push-ups a day as the daily high temperature. I’ll do this as soon as I figure out how to do a negative push-up.
The names I give winter storms are normally muttered under my breath as I’m out shoveling snow.
Oh, in case you were wondering, today it’s 56 degrees F in Bethlehem (not Pennsylvania; THE Bethlehem) and hazy. It’s going to get down to 43 degrees overnight, so if anyone has any kids sleeping in the manger, made sure they have enough swaddling clothes.
Local news reporting that to the north, “it’s snowing to beat the band.”
See, this is why I never joined the band. Too much worrying; too much looking over your shoulder, just waiting for someone to come along and start hitting you for no good reason at all.
It’s like being a gunslinger, except with musical instruments and a musical score.
I am now tempted to write a story about a hard-boiled detective who used to be a musician. He’s got scores to settle.
If William Shakespeare was a weather forecaster:
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
The daily highs will be in the 20s
For seven days henceforth
Save Saturday and Monday
Which will be colder still.
And snowfall each and every day, forsooth.”
When The Sound of Music collides with the current weather forecast in my brain, this is what happens:
Black ice on roads is a thing that I’m hating
Rain that then freezes is not worth creating
Breaking the branches to which the ice clings
Both of these are my least favorite things…
(Try not to picture me in lederhosen yodeling this. Oh, TOO LATE! That’s an image you could have done without.)