It’s the ultimate go-to small talk topic and since my column is usually chock full of complex intellect, I thought I’d dial it down a notch this time.
Soooo, the weather’s been beautiful lately, right?
Have you been enjoying it?
I know I have.
I mean, I’ve been taking advantage of it for sure. I’ve biked through consecutive months that are usually slammed with snow and inundated by inversion. And while I love feeling the sun on my face and the wind in my hair pedaling around this glorious valley from seasonal solstices to equinoxes, I feel guilty.
As a woman it’s my birthright to not be able to completely enjoy anything because of an underlying pang of guilt over something or another. In this case, I feel guilty for being able to bike through months that end in “ber” and “ary” because it’s too good to be true. Eventually we will pay for it—one way or another.
This weather pattern of beautiful torture can only end in one of two ways and neither is pleasant.
One, the warming pattern will continue and brainwash us into thinking this is fine and normal, so we’ll giddily plant flowers and squash starts and anxiously await for the lovely tree blossoms to produce produce.
Then it will come: The Sinister Surprise Late Squall.
We’ll tuck away our sweaters, scarves and trendy beanies thinking it’s safe since they hardly got worn anyway. And just as we slip on our flip flops and Daisy Dukes we’ll be punished. First, we’ll be punished for thinking Daisy Dukes are acceptable public attire, then we’ll be punished for biking instead of shivering and forgetting we live in a northern mountain valley with schizophrenic weather patterns that can flip in an instant. Winter Warlock will take revenge on the cocky Groundhog for shadow hoarding this year. Flowers will freeze, squash starts will shrivel, and blossoms will bail! We’ll lament and cry and be all outraged over the price of peaches.
The second scenario isn’t any better.
The warming pattern will continue and brainwash us into thinking this is fine and normal, so we’ll giddily plant flowers and squash starts and anxiously await for the lovely tree blossoms produce produce.
Then it will come: The Dreaded Drought of Doom.
We’ll still be punished for thinking Daisy Dukes are acceptable public attire, then we’ll be punished for biking instead of shivering and forgetting we are geographically categorized as a high desert which is dependent upon snow pack for water supply. The cocky Groundhog will have his day in the sun with his biggest “I told you so!” ever. He’ll glut on the infestation of insects, which were allowed to prolifically propagate in the balmy temps along with rodents and spiders. The plethora of pests will run amuck over our dehydrated landscapes rendered crisp like kindling. Flowers will fry, squashes will be swarmed, and blossoms will bake! The relentless sun, heat and drought will ignite and feed raging wildfires everywhere that will engulf everything! We’ll lament and cry and be all outraged over the price of peaches.
So much for small talk.