I’m trying to figure out if I am becoming some kind of a “weather nut.”
I wake up in the morning to the guy on the radio telling me, almost hour by hour, what the day’s weather might be like: “It’s going to be sunny and quite warm for a while, then less sun but still warm, a chance for rain later in the day, maybe thunderstorms, but possibly just continued cloudiness, then clearing during the early evening hours, cloudy and cooler overnight.
In other words, take your choice.
Then I go downstairs and open the paper to the weather page. There I get some of the words the radio guy had told me, but in case I don’t feel like reading I also get pictures. This week the words and pictures tell us that it’s going to be “mostly sunny and comfortable,” “mostly sunny and beautiful” the next day, then “mostly sunny and very warm.”
I guess it might be a personal choice between whether you want to feel “comfortable” or “very warm,” because only a five degree temperature difference is predicted for those days. I need help from those weather guys on the radio and in the newspaper because I never have figured out the difference between “partly cloudy” and “partly sunny.”
Maybe the guy who drew the weather pictures in the newspaper had been listening to the radio, too, because pictures for later in the week include lightning bolts, and the predictions are for possible thunderstorms and temperatures of 79 to 89. Or, those predictions might be based on the fact that lightning bolts are fun to draw.
All day after I listen to the radio and read the newspaper, I wait for the predicted weather pattern to develop. The thing that makes me a “nut” is that it really doesn’t matter to me. It isn’t important that I should know, even though it is bright and sunny in the morning, that it might be raining or snowing hard enough later in the day that I would need my rubbers or overshoes. It really doesn’t matter because I don’t wear rubbers or overshoes
I had early training as far as worrying about the weather is concerned. Some of that preparation, at least, must have come from my grandfather. If it was a couple of hours before school would be recessed and there was a knock on the door of our fourth grade room while we were looking out the window watching it rain or snow, I knew exactly who it was.
It was my grandfather bringing my rain coat and rubbers or my boots and hat for my walk home. Grandpa had realized he was going to be busy at his grocery store when I got out of school so he wanted to make sure the several long blocks of the trip home from school for me were kept as dry and comfortable as possible.
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