Skip to main content

What Might Be

A comedian once said that meteorologists have the only job where you can be:
evasive:
There's probably maybe kind of sort of about a 50% chance of rain
ambiguous:
We'll have 2 to 12 inches of snow...
and wrong:
Looks like the storm we've been anticipating just missed us...
and still keep your job.

I should've been a meteorologist.

But this isn't a time for ruing over unfulfilled wishes. The weather guys and girls are predicting a Mini Ice Age.


Shouldn't come as a shock. I grew up here, it's just winter in the Midwest. But despite that, I still had my undies in a bundle with the incessant cold-weather-warning harping. In fact, I got depressed. Starting wishing we had deeper pockets so we could flee to someplace warm; and then seriously considered going into debt so we could do it. Finally, I decided that neither wishing nor being buried under a stack of bills were viable options, so I did the next best thing: perused warm-weather vacation pics from years past.
All that did was depress me more.

And that's when the lightbulb went on: I was sad, anxious about wrangling childcare (because school's already been cancelled) and dreading -- dreading -- dragging my sorry-snow-slush-cold-frostbite-hating rear end through the weather...
all because of
a prediction of
what might be.

Seriously, even with satellites, dopplers, radar and other gadgetry, nature could still throw a curve and once again, the weather guys and girls would be
wrong.

Now, it's pretty silly to get worked up over what could be a faulty weather forecast, isn't it? Especially when you consider how we'd respond if we could get accurate forecasts of:
The day your water heater would bust; or,
The day your dream job would come knocking on your door; or,
The day and the moment when your doctor would deliver a frightening diagnosis.

My guess is that a lot would change. Spending habits would tighten so the Cadillac of water heaters could replace the busted one. Offices would be cleaned and filing tackled so an organized exit could be made when the Lotta Bucks position opened up in greener pastures.

But how would any of us prepare for news about failing health? Or news that there may be more years behind us than there are ahead?

I think there would be a lot of I'm sorries delivered along with long overdue I love yous.
Less working and more hand holding.
More face time and less screen time.
Idle chatter swapped out for real conversation.
Breathing, seeing, inhaling, feeling -- being -- in the moment, in lieu of rehashing yesterday and projecting into tomorrow's what-ifs.

Look at everything through that lens and I think: sure, we've got a little -- no make that a lot -- of cold coming our way. Or not. But why hand-wring over what may be an inaccurate forecast when I'm not hand-wringing over the other meatier, heavy issues that may be in the future for myself or any one of us?

Because there's no doppler or radar or gadgetry for that stuff, that's why.

That other stuff just happens, and we don't know when it's going to happen, so we live our lives day to day, planning (a little) for down the road and hopefully enjoying the given moments and the people in them.

I think that's the way it should be, even when it comes to a Mini Ice Age.

...and in meteorologist lingo, there's a 99% chance I'm right about that.

These guys are playing in it tomorrow, so GO PACK!
...and stay warm out there. It's a Mini Ice Age, you know.

Labels:

Comments

  1. As the Romans DoJanuary 5, 2014 at 11:40 AM

    GO PACK GO! and thanks for the lovely post on being in the moment--a great read for a Sunday morning, even as the snow continues to fall...sigh.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Rochelle FritschJanuary 6, 2014 at 11:24 AM

      Thanks for reading...and the Pack? Well, there's always next year, but it was a great game.

      ...and a side note: the weather forecasters were right. *sigh*

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What 6 Christmas Songs Got Wrong

After Thanksgiving, a birthday party last week, another birthday party this week and Christmas coming up next week, I am officially overwhelmed. It'd take more time than I have to explain what yet needs to be done and if you're like me, you're probably overwhelmed and don't have the time nor inclination to read it all anyway. But even with an overflowing plate, I still love the Christmas season -- from setting up the Christmas tree that we got two weeks ago and decorated only yesterday, to lighting bayberry scented candles, to every Rankin & Bass Christmas Special, and the music. Oh, the music. Songs have a way of putting you in the Christmas spirit, warming your heart and next thing you know, you're hugging a stranger in the elevator. Okay, um...maybe that's just me. But alas, all songs are not created equal; and the following Christmas songs inspire and awaken anything but peace on earth and goodwill to men. 1. Christmas Shoes : This song makes my
21 comments
Read more

Racism & Prejudice: Brothas from a Different Mother

Next week I’m attending  a seminar on defining racism. Should be interesting because: 1) I’ve been living in the skin I’m in for nearly 43 years and I’d like to hear about any advancements on the topic; and 2) back in college, some class I took defined racism as movement, advancement or otherwise being prevented and/or restricted based upon race .  Embedded in the definition was that racism took two parties – someone in power (the racist) and someone whose rights were being violated. So according to that definition, racism is an action , not an attitude . One is a disabling trespass while the other is prejudice . I tend to agree. It’s my belief that Martin Luther King and the thousands of civil rights fighters stood up against racism . They stood up against actions that prevented people from the pursuit of happiness – whether that meant voting, drinking from a common bubbler, or not ending up as Strange Fruit on a Poplar tree when all they wanted to do was get from P
15 comments
Read more

The Occasional Car

There's nothing special about our neighborhood. No quaint cul de sacs. Just streets that run north to south, sandwiched in between two busy avenues. It's a throwback place -- a hub of post-WWII homes and tree-lined streets whose limbs form a sort of cathedral ceiling. It's a silent night neighborhood . After dark, outside of a few who power-walk dogs begging them to go potty or poop and the occasional car slowly driving north or south, everyone's inside at nighttime. At midnight, Jamie and I were driving that occasional car, returning from a date night while Georgia was at a sleepover. The sky was clear, snowflakes sprinkled past the streetlamps and the streets and sidewalks were empty. Modern Love came on the radio as we began making the slight ascent to our block. We sang along and I knew we'd have to abandon it and our singing by the time we parked. We reached a stop sign at the top of the hill, and Jamie checked for any occasional westbound or eastbo
18 comments
Read more