I can't change the weather, but I can change me
I wonder sometimes about my weather obsessiveness. My father was had it, too. Nothing could bring out his ire quicker than my mother falling asleep before twenty-five past the hour when the weather report was given on our local news channel (he was afraid he'd miss something and needed her recollection to check his own).
In the days before twenty-four-hour news and weather broadcasts, that's all he had - two minutes at the bottom of the noon, six and eleven o'clock hours. And then networks expanded to five p.m. broadcasts, ten p.m. broadcasts, then CNN, then The Weather Channel. If he'd been just a little younger or lived just a little longer and had his internet indoctrination, the fact that a current (local!) radar map was his at the click of a mouse might very well have had the same effect on him as it's had on me. I forget that I can look out the window, or (gasp!) walk outside. Instead, I make my rounds, attempt to synch the various and sometimes contradictory reports -- will it be 2-5 inches of snow? 3-6? or should I brace myself for the very confident amateur report of 4-8?
It's been a challenge not to use the weather to small-talk with everyone I meet (or pass in the street, stand next to in the elevator, or hand money to in the coffee shop). It's boring. It's the repertoire of the bore. When living in a city that's been very literally crippled by the month's record snow fall, everyone is talking about it, and it's hard to avoid. It feeds a weather junkie's habit, and my big, fat weather habit needs not one more snack.
But I know I can't blame my problem on others, not even the sky which, as I write, is once again emptying the contents of its maw down upon us (this time in the form of freezing drizzle). It's the end of February, or near enough. Ten days left, and I can continue my binge, wasting untold hours clicking "refresh" in my browser, developing imaginary friendships with the meteorologists on my television screen (example: I'm a little concerned that TWC's Betty Davis is losing her voice), and fretting because the hour-by-hour forecast has shifted forward or back (What?? It's not supposed to snow for another fifteen minutes!!) -- or I can make a decision to swear off now.
So, from this moment forward, I will limit myself to twice-daily viewing. Just so I know the travel conditions. Maybe a little more if I'm concerned about my kids. I mean, they're all over the place and I have to know their weather, too, right? If I call and tell them to be careful, I'm only exercising a mother's duty. And if I have my work done, then making my rounds of wunderground and accuweather is a hobby, not anything that's interfering with responsibilities. Everyone needs a hobby. It's also useful to know if there's a low front moving in. Explains a lot about the pain in my joints. So, for health reasons, I can check here and there. Yeah, I can control this thing. I've got it. I don't need to give it up altogether. Just reign it in. I can manage it, right?
Till later...
In the days before twenty-four-hour news and weather broadcasts, that's all he had - two minutes at the bottom of the noon, six and eleven o'clock hours. And then networks expanded to five p.m. broadcasts, ten p.m. broadcasts, then CNN, then The Weather Channel. If he'd been just a little younger or lived just a little longer and had his internet indoctrination, the fact that a current (local!) radar map was his at the click of a mouse might very well have had the same effect on him as it's had on me. I forget that I can look out the window, or (gasp!) walk outside. Instead, I make my rounds, attempt to synch the various and sometimes contradictory reports -- will it be 2-5 inches of snow? 3-6? or should I brace myself for the very confident amateur report of 4-8?
It's been a challenge not to use the weather to small-talk with everyone I meet (or pass in the street, stand next to in the elevator, or hand money to in the coffee shop). It's boring. It's the repertoire of the bore. When living in a city that's been very literally crippled by the month's record snow fall, everyone is talking about it, and it's hard to avoid. It feeds a weather junkie's habit, and my big, fat weather habit needs not one more snack.
But I know I can't blame my problem on others, not even the sky which, as I write, is once again emptying the contents of its maw down upon us (this time in the form of freezing drizzle). It's the end of February, or near enough. Ten days left, and I can continue my binge, wasting untold hours clicking "refresh" in my browser, developing imaginary friendships with the meteorologists on my television screen (example: I'm a little concerned that TWC's Betty Davis is losing her voice), and fretting because the hour-by-hour forecast has shifted forward or back (What?? It's not supposed to snow for another fifteen minutes!!) -- or I can make a decision to swear off now.
So, from this moment forward, I will limit myself to twice-daily viewing. Just so I know the travel conditions. Maybe a little more if I'm concerned about my kids. I mean, they're all over the place and I have to know their weather, too, right? If I call and tell them to be careful, I'm only exercising a mother's duty. And if I have my work done, then making my rounds of wunderground and accuweather is a hobby, not anything that's interfering with responsibilities. Everyone needs a hobby. It's also useful to know if there's a low front moving in. Explains a lot about the pain in my joints. So, for health reasons, I can check here and there. Yeah, I can control this thing. I've got it. I don't need to give it up altogether. Just reign it in. I can manage it, right?
Till later...
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