It Happens Every February

Dearest Rachel –

You might or might not remember it, but Bill Engvall used to do a routine about how we humans (news folk and weather forecasters in particular) have the shortest memories, particularly when it comes to recurring events, like the change in seasons. In Texas, where he came from, it was guaranteed that, by the middle of August, some weatherman would stand up in front of his map and declare with absolutely no irony, “And I can’t remember when it’s been this hot around here!”

“Just once,” Bill would say, “I’d like to see the sports guy reach over, slap him and say, ‘Last August. And here’s a forecast for you – next August!’”

The thing is, seasons come and go, and it shouldn’t surprise us when they do. And yet, they do. Whatever’s going on outside that we’re witnessing, it always seems so much more so than back in the day; it’s so much hotter, the rain’s coming down so much heavier, the snow… well, okay, I still remember the blizzard that toppled a mayor when I was a kid, so maybe that’s not so much a thing. Then again, it’s almost a cliché to point out how, every November or so, we get this light dusting, and everyone acts as if it’s their first time trying to drive in the stuff. Us northern natives can’t even point and laugh at our Texas brethren when it comes to that; we’re just as guilty, in one way or another. Even me – although I’m able to drive in a straight line and brake with time and space to spare, I can’t be bothered to clean off my windshield to any satisfactory level, which has led to an embarrassing moment or two.

You would think I would learn – heck, I would think I’d learn – but it seems to be an ingrained bit of human nature that I just can’t shake.

Of course, I’m not hear to talk to you about snow today, even though it’s true that we’ve still got another three more weeks of winter to deal with – and no, it has nothing to do with Punxsutawney Phil; I’m just referring to what the calendar has to say about it. Although it appears that we’re not quite done with snow – there’s a hint that we might be dealing with some on Friday (although the projected temperatures suggest that most of it will melt shortly after landing) – the topic I figured on telling you about has to do with rain, instead.

It happens every February; at some point during what the calendar thinks of as ‘winter,’ we have this thaw, where the white carpet in the backyard literally dissolves. On top of this (also literally), this warming-up process will tend to bring cold and warm air into conflict, resulting in the shy dropping a considerable amount of rain, which speeds up the melt. Except, it’s a fairly superficial thing; the snow turns to water, but the ground it lies upon is still frozen, and refuses to absorb the melt – or at best, absorbs only what it can, leaving a substantial lake in the backyard. We used to refer to it as Lake Larson, back in the day, for obvious reasons.

But now, I’m not so sure we’d be entitled to.

And yet, I can’t bring myself to claim that this is the biggest backyard lake I’ve ever seen. We’re indoor people, Daniel and I – especially when something like this would obviously preclude any ideas of going outside and playing… whatever it is people do in their backyards, assuming they still do stuff like that. It may well be that, during previous years, it’s been considerably worse. Heck, you may have seen worse back when you were still around.

It’s just that those lakes were in the relatively distant past – a few years ago or so – and never measured for comparison’s sake. So what we’re dealing with now looks so much larger, simply because we’re – okay, I’m – noticing now, and as a result, it seems that much bigger.

Everything we deal with in life is like that. Whatever is on our plate seems so much more and bigger that the stuff that’s far off, be it in the ‘distant’ past or future, because it’s right there in front of us. And the distant stuff looks small because it’s distant. Sure, not everything we deal with in life is a recurring event – at least, I hope not; I’d hate to actually find Megumi, only to lose her in a tragic accident within a few years – but it’s all ‘common to man,’ as scripture tells us, and we shouldn’t be too shocked when we have to deal with it.

Or, as it this case, not deal with it, and literally let nature take its course. Eventually, the ground will warm up, and soak up our backyard lake, just like it always does. By April, the only memory of its presence will be the relative lack of grass by the fence due to having been effectively drowned a couple months earlier.

I wonder if I shouldn’t plant some winter rice back there…

Anyway, that’s the morning for you, honey. Keep an eye on me today, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.