Give me the weather one day at a time

Sometimes you can get too much information. Way more than you asked for, and way more than you are interested in. That’s the way I feel about weather reports. Give it to me one day at a time. This is especially important beginning in November through the middle of March.

I can take a forecast of “cold today...temperatures dipping...” but don’t go on and tell me it’s going to last for the “next six days with heavy snow and slick roads.” I can take it one day at a time; I don’t need to know if it’s going to last and get worse. Give me the option of believing that I can see sunshine and melting snow in the immediate future.

Optimism rules my day, so don’t spoil it with too much reality. Give me time to dream of April showers and May flowers even while I am bundled up in my house looking at seed catalogs and planning what I am going to put in my planters this year.

Times have changed since my growing up days—when it took almost four of the five miles from the high school to our home on Greybull River for the heater in the car to even hit lukewarm. And autos then didn’t have all the vents to the back. You just sat and endured the cold, knowing the car would warm to a bearable temperature as soon as it drove into the garage.

Growing up, I did the sledding, ice skating (although I was no whiz at it, I could get around the pond), games of Fox and Geese and made snow angels—in moderation, of course.

And when the kids were small, we did all the above with them. We even had friendly snowball fights in the yard.

But I was much happier in the summers, wading in the river (it really wasn’t that deep), going to the park and swimming in the old “swimming pool” that was filled every Monday with water right out of Shell Creek—felt sorry for sons 1 and 2, as they were the ones taking swimming lessons then. A pool full of shivering young boys and girls, and lifeguards staying out of the water as much as possible.

Tuesday mornings was when the water was the coldest. By Saturday (no swimming lessons then), the sun had heated the water enough to make it more fun, and the pool was filled to overflowing on both Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Then, alas, the pool was drained and it began all over again.

Don’t know why the water didn’t seem near as cold when we picnicked at Smith’s Grove and went swimming on the last day of school. Oh yes, I forgot, that was quite a few decades ago—and time (and age) have left their mark.

But back to weather forecasts. Just give them to me one day at a time.