Parsing the Weather

 

Parsing the Weather

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If you know me at all, by now, you know I’m obsessed by weather.  Blame my Dad. He instilled the trait in me that day we stood side-by-side on the ditch bank, scanning the sky for the least wisp of cloud, in that dry, dusty summer when I was so young. Once instilled, the weather virus flourished.

I, of all people, know that the only real way to tell weather is to step outside, look, listen, smell, poke your hand under the elements, and feel. Predictions are seldom reliable.

Take yesterday. I sat at the computer and the little tease at the bottom left screen said, “cooling trend the next five days”. I opened the weather tab to check the details. It showed warmer temps for the following five days. Probably another AI glitch. AI is good at glitches. Probably meant to say, “cooking trend the next five days”.

Rain is falling, listlessly. Has been for the last couple hours. Barely sprinkling. The sky is getting lighter so I predict the sprinkle will end soon.  There is no wind. Temp this morning is 68. Humidity is extreme. UV is extreme. AQI is good. Air pressure is up and down like a yo-yo, which for me, translates to an Arthritic Pain Index of extreme.

In an hour, all the above will have shifted except for that final measure, which I call the API. In other words, normal.

Me, I’m having a good day. The house is reasonably clean and tidy. I’ve freshly baked bread on the counter, a tray of cookies in the oven, a slab of salmon thawing for dinner.

I’m also having a sad day while a little rain falls down my face. Two good, close friends recently have been diagnosed with cancer. At our ages, this is common, right? That doesn’t make it any easier because I’m selfish and want to keep my close friends close as long as I can.

 I’ve become more consciously diligent lately to tell my friends that I love them, to let them know I care.

It’s your turn. Most of you know me better than I know you. I read the obituaries. Some people I know well, some names I know. I’m aware the names unknown to me were neighbors, that perhaps we passed by one another way back when at the library in Chinook or on the street in Havre or at the car show in Turner or driving on the highways. Each Passing Beyond gives me pause for respect and honor and caring.

I believe there are variations in degrees of loving, similar to the air quality index, perhaps. I may not know you well enough to know your moods and desires, that you love lilacs and can’t stand the smell of brussels sprouts, that your heart has been broken and that you are a Cubs fan.

On my Love Quality Index, I can always say I love you and I don’t want to lose you and when you hurt, I hurt too. So, here it is. I love you. I care. I give you honor and respect as the human being you are.

In this short time, rain has stopped, the temperature is rising, clouds are parting for the sun. I love you.

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

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To State the Obvious.

 

To State the Obvious.

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Life is hard.

I’m fortunate. I never had to go through the shock of ease ripped away. Life for me was always hard. I thought that was normal. I still think it is normal. I’m aware of how easily we rewrite our own histories, making them fit some drama-trauma of excuse. I try to hold myself to standards of emotional honesty.

I’ll give a hard life credit for my ability to find beauty and peace and love in small moments. Ease and comfort have never been my goal. I’m quite capable of choosing the rockiest road all by myself.

Having said all that, I’ve never faced a tsunami of mud or experience my house shatter around me in a tornado or live with fear of Eboli or live in a cardboard box under the bridge, although I’ve had the fear of being under the bridge in the cardboard box with starving children.

I used to pace the floor, telling the Great Mystery that if the box under the bridge was next, okay, but I’m not going alone. I told the Great Mystery, whatever that means, that he-she-it would need to be there with me. Somehow, some way, a job popped up, rent got paid, the power wasn’t shut down, we had food to eat and work to see us through to the next bridge.

See, I’m fortunate.

For me, life is winding down. I’m in my 80s with all the pains and age deterioration that goes with waking up another day.

Life is hard.

I just got word that another close friend has cancer. First, I told him, as I’ve told others, “No. I forbid it.” Sure, that helped a lot. Then I wrote a long letter letting him know how important he is in my life and how much I’ve always cared for him.

Life is hard.

We just got ripped with a destructive hailstorm accompanied by wind from four directions and two inches of rain in two hours. The part of Mexico where I live is lush with vegetation, greenery abounds. Amazingly, here on the rancho, none of our houses were seriously damaged. No trees were uprooted.

Everything was shredded. Thick skinned plants such as my Madre plants, succulents, my pineapple, the papaya, all look like they contracted small pox. The papaya fruits which are close to ripening look like they are bleeding with small pox. Tree and plant debris cover the ground.

The following days, every morning, my back yard hosted sixty or seventy birds, foraging through the grass and debris, searching out goodies all kinds.

For some reason, the ants proliferate. All kinds and sizes and colors of ants. The leaf-cutters have obliterated my oleanders and dancing-skirt plant and crepe myrtles, among others, leaving naked stalks and branches. I feel itchy crawling on my skin and generally find the culprit to be one or another of the ants, which I crush without a qualm. No Zen from me toward ants. Having said that, I let three different kinds of spiders live, with a shrug of kindness. I don’t claim to understand myself.

Life is hard.

I hurt. My insides are a mess. My outsides are rusting, broken, missing parts, falling apart, out of gas. I could bore you with physical complaints, but, they bore me more. I figure I’m past eighty years so I should hurt. I do.

I’m fortunate. I woke up this morning, got out of bed, had coffee, measured the night’s surprise of rain fall, let my dog slurp all over my hands, baked a batch of cookies.

 Life is good. Hard doesn’t negate the good. I learned in my early years that I could choose to find goodness or to live in despair. To me that choice is a no-brainer.

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

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