So, I’m walking out the door at 0640 this morning and he says…in his concerned, alert, alert, fatherly voice…it’s 1 degree out there.  I thought – seriously?  Not seriously it is 1 degree, but seriously, you had to tell me this…I hardly pay any attention to the temp.  I know if I’m hot or if I’m cold.  In the summer, I do pay attention because I love to complain about the heat and humidity…but otherwise, if I didn’t live with the weather beacon, I wouldn’t know if it was 1 degree or 32 degrees…It doesn’t really have any affect on my hatred of winter.  In the winter, I wear a winter coat and in the summer I don’t.  With all of that being said, fact of the matter:

I love living with my beacon of information…I love his rain gauge – well, when we find it in the spring after the month-long search of where he might have put it so it wouldn’t get broken.  I love that at any time I can ask him a weather question and he can recite details and forecast.  With my current hatefulness with the news media, I no longer need to watch the 6 and 10 o clock news for the forecast because I have him…..I do find his snow information helpful…many time I roll my eyes with his Captain Obvious announcements…  He loves weather…he loves to think about weather and educate himself…perhaps it could be called a hobby.  Even if he starts collecting global daily weather statistics during retirement, at least it won’t take up as much room as my dish collection.

So I publicly apologize for my irritation this morning, you did pull me out of it when you were beating the curtain with the broom but that is a totally different blog.

Until next time….

2 thoughts on “Perspective…

  1. He’s a good guy and it is one of the ways he takes care of you. 🙂


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s