Wednesday, June 12, 2013
It’s June and officially summer.
Yes, I know the summer solstice isn’t until the 21st, but it’s officially summer and hurricane season because the first tropical storm of the season hit South Carolina. It’s not officially summer until we get a hurricane.
I watched as tropical storm force winds eclipsed 4.5 mph. I stood ready to man the emergency storm center as a light drizzle fell from the sky. At 2:30 a.m. I went outside expecting to see driving winds and pouring rain as the eye of the storm approached.
Instead, I saw stars. For a tropical storm, Andrea was a big flop.
I hate weather.
It’s hot outside and it’s 90 degrees and I know this is mild compared to what’s coming in July. I say here often when the heat index hits 115 degrees the clothes are coming off.
The temperatures hit 90 today and instead the pants came off. It was too hot today for pants. So I wore shorts instead.
Still, I know what’s coming. I remember last July 1 we had a heat index of 114 degrees.
What am I supposed to do with a 114-degree heat index?
I don’t even know what that means.
The weather vixens on the Weather Channel say the heat index is the temperature the body feels when heat and humidity are combined.
The Vixen of the Month tried to tell me how you calculate the heat index, combining actual temperature, relative humidity and dew point temperature, but that’s too much math for this fried egg of a brain to comprehend in this heat.
Besides, nothing that complicated should ever come out of a face that pretty.
I keep my weather simple. I’m like Little Red Riding Hood. I like things “just right.”
I moved here because I didn’t like the cold. My first day here, January 2, 2008, the temperature was 19 degrees outside with a wind chill factor of four degrees above zero.
And I’m looking at palm trees. Frozen palm trees, but palm trees.
Last summer was too hot. The summer before that was too hot.
I’m reminded it’s just June and this isn’t hot yet. I heard on Memorial Day it was 47 degrees in Chicago. I’m of an age where I don’t mind brisk anymore. I even promised to no longer complain about it being too cold even though I did lament the 19 degree temperatures on my first working here.
I hate weather because weather forecasters never get it right.
Two days before Andrea hit there was a tornado warning sounding out the “End is Here!” cry of 70 mph winds, torrential rain, baseball-sized hail and enough funnel clouds to make the Wicked Witch of the West nervous.
I even made the phone call that my work associates should get ready for a really bad cloud.
It didn’t happen. The system fizzled out like a blown birthday candle.
So there were no tornadoes, no hurricane, just some hot weather and by our standards this weekend was tepid.
I saw what happened in Oklahoma last month, and what happened in Alabama last year. I’m not wishing that kind of apocalyptic death and destruction on anybody.
I just want it to cool off.
And yes, I know, come July I’ll be happy to see 90 degrees. I might even break out a sweater.
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