Whilst my wrists are healing, a post from 2011, a kinder, gentler time in which I ponder the many cures for insomnia...
Weather, as many of you know, is a staple of conversation through the middle part of the U.S. Minnesota in particular provides a number of interesting weather treats to ponder, including a yearly temperature variance of well over 120 degrees; whirling, sucking wind vortexes; and blinding snowstorms that once drove hearty ancestors to affix rope from the house to the out-buildings and stuff unwary travelers into the slaughtered bellies of oxen for warmth.
And so, while grateful that Willie has a “weather eye” out at all times, what it does to everyday conversations leaves one falling limply off the furniture, eyelids fluttering.
“I see here where the temperature, with the heat index, is going to be around 105 degrees tomorrow.”
“Is that right, Pa?”
He hates when I call him Pa.
“Say, you didn’t happen to catch the rainfall totals for last week, did you?”
“No, sorry. I was totally disinterested and opted to alphabetize the pantry instead.”
“Did you really?”
“No.”
Things could be worse, a fact of which I know firsthand. I’ve had boyfriends who stole my eyeliner, for cryin’ out loud.
Then again, once they learned not to do that we then had two eyeliners in the house…
“Pearl, it’s gonna rain! Grab your umbrella!”
“Willie, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Yeah, but I got a feeling about this one.”
Unfortunately, Willie’s weather feelings are a poor bet. Outside of “probably going to snow tomorrow”, said in the middle of January or “Gonna be windy tomorrow!” in the spring, he’s just making it up.
It’s a cure for insomnia, isn’t it, this incessant weather blather. A carefully interjected “You don’t say” or “That seems different than last season, doesn’t it?” is all he asks for and all I need to ensure ten minutes of conjecture regarding caterpillar stripes and their warnings on the dreadful winter to come.
Frankly, they’re all dreadful..
Still, he gets to talk about the weather with only the mildest of interjections and ribbing on my part, and I get to fall asleep to muted dreams of snowbound cabins and roaring fireplaces.
Another problem solved.
Weather, as many of you know, is a staple of conversation through the middle part of the U.S. Minnesota in particular provides a number of interesting weather treats to ponder, including a yearly temperature variance of well over 120 degrees; whirling, sucking wind vortexes; and blinding snowstorms that once drove hearty ancestors to affix rope from the house to the out-buildings and stuff unwary travelers into the slaughtered bellies of oxen for warmth.
And so, while grateful that Willie has a “weather eye” out at all times, what it does to everyday conversations leaves one falling limply off the furniture, eyelids fluttering.
“I see here where the temperature, with the heat index, is going to be around 105 degrees tomorrow.”
“Is that right, Pa?”
He hates when I call him Pa.
“Say, you didn’t happen to catch the rainfall totals for last week, did you?”
“No, sorry. I was totally disinterested and opted to alphabetize the pantry instead.”
“Did you really?”
“No.”
Things could be worse, a fact of which I know firsthand. I’ve had boyfriends who stole my eyeliner, for cryin’ out loud.
Then again, once they learned not to do that we then had two eyeliners in the house…
“Pearl, it’s gonna rain! Grab your umbrella!”
“Willie, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Yeah, but I got a feeling about this one.”
Unfortunately, Willie’s weather feelings are a poor bet. Outside of “probably going to snow tomorrow”, said in the middle of January or “Gonna be windy tomorrow!” in the spring, he’s just making it up.
It’s a cure for insomnia, isn’t it, this incessant weather blather. A carefully interjected “You don’t say” or “That seems different than last season, doesn’t it?” is all he asks for and all I need to ensure ten minutes of conjecture regarding caterpillar stripes and their warnings on the dreadful winter to come.
Frankly, they’re all dreadful..
Still, he gets to talk about the weather with only the mildest of interjections and ribbing on my part, and I get to fall asleep to muted dreams of snowbound cabins and roaring fireplaces.
Another problem solved.
16 comments:
Maybe you could bottle those weather talks of his and sell them as a cure for insomnia?
What? You don't find weather talk fascinating?!
In maritime Canada, we talk like Willie does. He'd feel right at home with us.
I think Sioux may be on to something..a real money-maker!
Some of us old guys would be bereft of conversation were it not for the weather.
I listen to people who predict weather by some inner signal. People have barometric bits and can't help predicting. The whole gift of prophecy could be due to bunions.
Hari Om
My left hip holds an 89% accuracy rating for rain within three days of onset of pain resembling that which the stone felt which got belted by Excalibur... If the sensation is more like when Arthur drew the dashed thing out, then batten down the hatches.
Not that I bother telling anyone - they're all asleep whilst I suffer through my insomnia. #:-
Does he insist on watching the weather channel? Which, by the way, has become like news programs, you can never get the weather or the news when you want it which is why TV is being usurped by the internet, but that's more than you wanted to know too. :)
Good post. I like it. It was interesting to read it. Great thank's author for sharing…
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"Boyfriends who stole my eyeliner..." You are a hoot.
OK, I've read through your more recent posts and find nothing about your wrists. What happened? What's wrong?
I found this to be another bloody funny post........thanks for that
Weather conversations are fine. Not confronting on the whole, and I have no responsibility for the weather and cannot be made to feel guilty. A win.
I hope those wrists are progressing well.
I like the roaring fireplaces, but I don't think I could handle snowbound cabins, no matter how often I dream about them in our Aussie summer. Weather talk drives me nuts if it goes on past "do I need an umbrella today?"
My husband consults the internet before venturing out with the dogs. I look out of the window. I have to admit, though, that he's not caught out nearly as often a I am . . .
My husband used to be a weather fanatic. Now it's talk radio and pit bull rescue. I sure do miss the weather!
Sounds rambunctious. You want insomnia? Anyone here in western Oregon can predict the daily weather for five months in advance, starting in November.
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