I seem to have a chronic ailment. I complain about the weather. I don’t know if there’s a true scientific declaration (climatological whine-itis?) regarding this syndrome, but I promise you it’s real. I believe it’s partly an occupational hazard. Let’s be honest, if you’re out in the elements for large stretches of the day or night, the temperature and the weather are bound to be on your mind. But I fear my malady goes a bit further than simple occasional observations of daily climate change. For instance, there’s an internal clock in my head that causes me to brood about the summer solstice for at least six months of the year. I can’t even allow myself to enjoy most of the summer because I’m busy fretting about the daily diminishing daylight that gradually gives way to winter’s short, cold days. Yes, it’s true. It’s sometimes difficult being me.
As you might imagine, for these past many weeks, the prolonged cold spell that has plagued much of the country, my home range included, has been the main subject of my ire. Of course, with modern meteorological technology, the weather and its constant state of change is hardly a surprise anymore. And though it’s a common theme among the good, faithful and God-fearing people of the arid Intermountain West, where I have spent nearly all of my life thus far, I must admit that my whole heart is rarely fully invested in the seasonal pleas sent heavenward for snow. Fortunately for the sake of the region’s overall well-being, the farmers in this neck of the woods seem to have more righteous influence with deity than I do when it comes to weather-related prayers. But frankly, it requires a different kind of sacrifice to supplicate for a March blizzard when you’re facing a fortnight of calving 100 heifers in arctic conditions than when you’re working on the planter or the beet digger in a heated shop.
I should note that I’m an equal opportunity weather whiner. I’m equally adept at complaining about the heat as I am about the cold. Though I may have specialized seasonal language and unique profanity for each season, I am a respecter of none of the four. Too much snow or too little rain? Not a problem. I can cuss either situation with equal aplomb.
It was with this impressive skill set that I found myself in the county fair office one sweltering August day last year. I’d situated myself at a desk in the corner of the spacious meeting room to take care of a few delinquent office chores. Carla, the gracious and unlucky soul tasked with the treasurer duties of our county fair board, had printed some checks for the monthly bills that required my signature. One of the checks was for the monthly power bill (another thing about which I regularly complain). Ironically, at the precise moment I was signing that particular check, I seemed to notice how hot my little corner of the room seemed to be, despite the obvious chill spewing from the window-mounted air conditioner not 10 feet away. With a little amateur sleuthing, we discovered that the heater in my corner was turned up to its highest setting and was doing its best Little Engine that Could impression in a vain and valiant effort to keep up with the two air conditioners, situated at opposite ends of the room, that were working with an equal amount of electricity-gobbling effort to keep the room cool. Eureka! I’d found my weather Utopia. In reality, it was an oddly absurd and expensive way to seek balance, don’t you think?
In the days and months that have passed since that hot August day, I’ve had several opportunities to reflect on my particular little contribution to the climate change conundrum that day. And though I’ve felt no guilt whatsoever concerning my part in abetting in the purported destruction of Mother Earth, the mistakes of that situation have nonetheless offered their own valuable insights.
A superficial assessment of the situation would suggest that you can indeed have it both ways. The room as a whole was neither too hot nor too cold. So, why then, would you want to change anything? A full understanding of the circumstances, viewed from a proper perspective of course, reveals that it’s quite possible to throw good effort at foolishness. And while I’ve still yet to find a lasting cure for my apparent aversion to every weather condition, I can make an honest effort to appreciate every good thing – even if it doesn’t seem perfectly good for me in the moment.
