Jesus, You know that when The Weather Channel trumpets dire snowstorm warnings, I shrug and expect a flurry or two. This time, though, You joined forces with the meteorologists for a major surprise. OMG, thank You for a warm house and my snow-shoveling hero who doesn’t mind that my wussy efforts can’t compare to his.
Jesus, I’m not sure what to think of Your latest weather surprise, You sure took care of the leaves-on-the-lawn problem. Also, I no longer have to harvest tomatoes from the garden. Regardless of winter coats not yet drycleaned and where-on-earth-is-that-left-hand-glove angst, Your snow is lovely. OMG, it reminds me of Your love and forgiveness that can cover everything ugly and make it beautiful.
O Lord, after a six-week drought, I’d almost forgotten what Your rain symphonies sounded like, with percussive rumbles of thunder and gentle droplet harmonies. My flowers thank You, and so do I, as I’m sick and tired of their complaints.
One thing both flowers and this gardener have learned, though, during every growing/blooming season: whatever the “omnipotent” Weather Channel decrees, You are the one in charge.
Image by Shafin Al Asad Protic from Pixabay.
Should I bother with a spring to-do list?
This past winter, I could have scraped old wallpaper in three rooms. Instead, I read books. Enriching my mind inspires me so much more. Hubby’s enriched his mind too, finishing a thousand-page book on American history.
We’ve enriched our minds so much we’ve lost them — when recalling winter to-do lists. But a little repression never hurt anyone.
Besides, it’s spring. Why waste time indoors when we can stay outdoors?
Between snowstorms and tornadoes, I mean.
The only problem: our enriched minds cannot agree on priorities.
Items on his spring to-do list:
My list:
Do Hubby and I share any common items on our to-do lists? A few:
Maybe we should put these — and, of course, enriching our minds — at the top of our spring to-do lists.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s on your list?
Maybe you think I, from chilly Indiana, have finally flipped?
Perhaps I can persuade you to see things my way.
First, pleasant weather conditions during winter confuse us Hoosiers worse than a time change. Is it January or June? Has someone sneaked six months past us?
Lovely weather also demands we go outdoors. If I’d been raised in Florida, my mother would never have let me inside: “Sunshine’s good for you!”
If I were a Floridian, I’d have to do (gulp) yard work. I much prefer curling up each winter with my sherpa throw to read or watch basketball.
In Florida, forget about warm fuzzies. Or the waistline-camouflage layers I love.
Besides, we Midwesterners enjoy griping about weather. Could we survive without our favorite pastime?
If Indiana’s environment resembled Florida’s, our state would be flooded with touristy relatives. Hoosier parents do bribe grown children to come home for Christmas. Soon, though, bored offspring return to nests elsewhere. As a result, parents truly own their homes and cars.
Speaking of cars, no one in the Midwest keeps vehicles clean during winter as expected in Florida.
Besides, without wintry mix, we and our cars would miss the joy of doing figure eights on the interstate. That’s the only wild life we experience after New Year’s.
Regarding Florida’s wildlife: boo for bugs the size of Volkswagens! While winter camping might prove more fun there, alligator warning signs made me rethink my antipathy toward raccoons. They might steal a week’s groceries, but raccoons don’t abscond with several limbs as well.
Becoming a snowbird requires the packing and moving I despise. Besides, snowbirds inhabit rows and rows of mobile homes so close dwellers know their neighbors are eating Popeyes’ fried chicken for the third time this week.
Finally, wouldn’t Florida’s continuous green grow monotonous? The never-changing, brilliant blue of sea and sky?
Sure, we Hoosiers endure dreary months. But nothing will excite us like the first baby leaves that invade Old Man Winter’s domain. Sunny daffodils will send us into spring ecstasy.
Poor Floridians know nothing of these extreme Hoosier joys. Pity them.
And move closer to the fire.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Where would you like to spend the winter?
Jesus, today, one more survey popped up on my screen, asking my dog’s opinion of winter. You know I don’t have a dog. But if I did, perhaps he’d agree there are too many surveys in this world.
Image by Claudia from Pixabay.
Instead, shouldn’t humans, canines and all creation ask the bigger and better question:
OMG, what do You think?
Image by sspieh3 from Pixabay.
First, for all of you who require normalcy, I’ve recorded one everyday reason for thanksgiving: good weather. Here in Indiana, we expect winter, like an obnoxious relative, to blow in during November. Instead, sunshine, moderate temperatures, and glorious fall colors have prevailed. We Hoosiers are suspicious, but grateful.
Now begins the weird list. I am thankful for:
Finally, I’m thankful for hours in the Atlanta airport, surrounded by 4.72 million other travelers. As I stood in a restroom line, a janitor took charge. When her superhuman ears detected a stall lock’s jiggle, she directed the next woman to it.
Insignificant? No. When 2.36 million women wait in line, two seconds apiece add up. This janitor’s heroics comprised the difference between making our flights and dying of old age in the airport.
Even better: she touched our shoulders and said warmly, “Blessings on you today, honey.”
A little weird.
But sometimes weird blessings are the best.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What weird gratitude comes to your mind?
Recently, my pastor, instead of dismissing the congregation after the benediction, seated us.
How could he? Everyone had closed their Bibles and grabbed their purses.
“We have a problem,” Pastor said.
A million-dollar error in our building project? Heresy in the articles of faith? The closing of Cracker Barrel?
He said, “We don’t know when summer’s over.”
For weeks, the church staff has trumpeted program changes in bulletin, website and email. Though Pastor performed the parental equivalent of holding our faces in his hands and articulating new schedules s-l-o-w-l-y, we’ve asked spouses. “Um, what time does church start?
Past decades, summer exited after Labor Day. As for equinoxes — spring never arrived in March, so why bow to September’s equinox for summer’s departure?
Opening school early has shaken our culture. Back-to-school sales start before the previous school year ends. Indiana’s General Assembly passed school-excuse legislation so county fair winners could participate in the state fair.
Once upon a time, children sent to bed during broad daylight assumed they’d committed major sin, or their parents suffered from psychosis. Now, kids consider such craziness normal. Soon, they’ll consider cleaning their rooms as natural as microwaving pizza bites. No wonder everyone worries about this generation.
This summer’s weather has reinforced bewilderment. Droughts during June fried Midwestern fields and gardens. Unheard-of July rains rescued us and produced bizarre green August lawns.
Early last week, night temperatures fell into the 40s. Before Labor Day, they soared into the 90s.
Should we rev up the air conditioner or the furnace this morning? How about this afternoon? This minute?
Covering all seasonal bases, we snuggle under blankets every night. Turn on air conditioning, start ceiling fans and open windows. No wonder we’re befuddled. We alternate hot chocolate and snow cones.
Besides all this, baseball, basketball, tennis, golf and football blare from screens. Aaaaugh!
Let’s switch from Daylight Savings Time now, instead of November — absorb maximum confusion like a sucker punch and be done with it!
Or next year, we could once again mark Labor Day as summer’s end. But 100-degree heat waves might bake us for two more months.
We’d be more confused than ever.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you handle summer’s supposed end?
This post first appeared on August 8, 2018.
My daughter once wished for a different birthday month. I referred her to God for further discussion.
I see her point. August boasts no holidays — not even a fake holiday like St. Patrick’s Day. Nobody parties on the eve of August 1, as in January.
The hotter the weather, the more we chill. Dressing up is wearing matched right and left flip-flops.
Still, a tiny tadpole of awareness wiggles into our days.
It’s August. Something’s different.
Outdoor projects delayed till warm weather now are postponed till fall. Yards need extreme makeovers, but we’re so sick of yard work, we pay 4-Hers to release goats on our premises.
August presents an end-of-summer reality check. I purchased a “miracle” swimsuit in May. Now I realize the only miracle is that I paid big bucks for it.
August affects mothers strangely. Kids talk Mom into buying cool new backpacks, though 23 uncool backpacks languish at home. Mothers also obsess about changes in schedules: “Go to bed now so you’ll be ready when school starts.” My mother did this. As of August 1, all five of us went to bed at 4:00 p.m.
Even the sun listens to Mom and retires earlier in August. Yet during daytime, it unfurls golden rays as if leading an everlasting summer parade. Eating watermelon in the backyard, we experience a different kind of reality check: It’s been a great summer.
By August, every able-bodied Midwesterner has ridden a Ferris wheel and consumed a warm, crisp elephant ear.
We’re recovering from that gathering of DNA-related strangers known as a family reunion, when we rendezvoused with cousins who long ago sneaked into drive-ins with us. We kissed baby kin’s brand-new cheeks and gave grandmas and grandpas big hugs.
In August, homeowners stop vying for the Yard of the Year. Instead, we concede the grand champion ribbon to God for His spectacular pastures of goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace and Sweet Williams.
He treats us to evening concerts by cicada choirs. Fireflies, now veteran presenters, perform spectacular light shows at dusk with few technical glitches.
Whether we own farms or only farmers’ tans, the cornucopia of gardens, tasseled cornfields and leafy rows of soybeans reassure us: After harvest, we’ll celebrate with plenty of food on our tables.
All during August — the not-so-special month.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What do you like best about August?
O Lord, my friends in California suffer from power outages, shoveling never-before snowdrifts.
Meanwhile, we in Indiana experience April-like thunderstorms and warm temperatures, fooling naive lilacs, daffodils and irises. OMG, perhaps Your weather is trying tell us we’re not in charge?
