An expression of grievances
I have a grievance to express.
It’s the weather. It’s January and I’m complaining about the weather, and I’m holding to my vow not to complain about it being too cold.
Last summer when temperatures reached 115 degrees and I swore if it touched 116 degrees my clothes were coming off. I made a promise I would no longer complain about cold weather.
How can I complain about cold weather when winter is almost a month old and it hasn’t even gotten cold yet?
Maybe it’s dipped below freezing for 10 or 15 minutes, but that’s not cold, that’s just chilly. That’s sweater weather. I want cold. I want snow. I don’t want 85 degrees on Jan. 12.
It’s hot enough down here from February through November, at least give me December and January. My sweat glands need a break. I sweat enough during summer months to fill a bathtub. My poor boys are tuckered out by Thanksgiving.
They need a couple months off to replenish and resupply, but 85 degrees in January? That’s ridiculous.
Unless I’m having lunch with Fidel Castro it shouldn’t be anywhere near 85 degrees in January. It actually reached 85.6 degrees on Saturday.
I made another vow. I vowed if temperatures reached 86 degrees in January and I’m not rubbing elbows with Mickey Mouse at the Magic Kingdom my clothes were coming off.
My clothes were coming off and I promised to run down Main Street dressed only in what the stork saw. Thankfully, I did not have to fulfill that promise.
I know I threaten to remove my clothes a lot and I promise I don’t have exhibitionist tendencies. Trust me. It’s not a sight for the weak at heart.
I understand it’s the subtropics and we have palm trees and alligators here. It’s not supposed to get that cold here. We haven’t had any measurable snowfall in 20 years until we had eight inches dropped on us the weekend before Valentine’s Day in 2010.
But that’s okay.
In the South the snow hangs around like company. It’s gone by noon tomorrow. I don’t mind that.
When I moved south in 1981, I left the snow shovel leaning against the garage for the next sad sack who wanted to live inside the Arctic Circle. Where I lived they measured snow in feet not inches, or not decades since it last snowed.
I was going where it’s warm.
I lived in the North Georgia foothills of the Appalachians for 20 years and the snow there often capped the mountaintops. It made for great viewing because it was 25 miles away.
If it did snow, like it did over Christmas, it snowed enough for us to say, “Hey look it’s snowing,” and then it quit.
I counted eight flakes on my windshield.
The word “snow” down here is pronounced “ice water.”
I’m not complaining about the lack of snow. I just want cooler temperatures. Five years ago when I moved here I told everyone, “Hey, I’m moving to the beach where it’s 85 degrees in January.”
When I got here the thermometer read 13 degrees with a wind chill of 2. Now it’s 85 degrees outside and I wish it were more like 13.
I want cold. I don’t want to camp out in the freezer.
Temperatures will hover near 80 degrees the rest of this week and then it will get “cold” over the weekend. Down to 60.
This is Al Gore’s fault. He’s still ticked about the election.