Weathering Change

I never understood the urgency of listening to the morning weather. As I understood it, I wore shorts and t-shirts between May and September and boots and a coat between October and April. The intricacies of the weather escaped me like midday snowflakes on the windshield of our Dodge Caravan.

A wind chill.
A heat index.
Chicago’s 32 degrees. 16 degrees. Negative 8 degrees.
A fog advisory.
Ozone awareness.
A high pollen count.

Without a grasp of anything beyond hot and cold, I never understood my mother’s need to listen to the morning weather report at exactly 7:10 on her favorite oldies radio station every day. The nagging, whining and fighting of my brother and I was forcefully sssshhhhed at this time so the weatherman could have the stage for 30 seconds. It was a moment in her morning routine as important as brushing her teeth or hooking her bra. She didn’t work outside. Her car lived in the garage. Why did she care so much about the weather?

20 years and 700 miles removed from those memories, when my alarm quietly buzzes close to my face each morning, the cats have been chasing each other for hours and Lauren has already showered.

My lazy daily routine is quick and careless. I don’t dry my hair, apply makeup or eat breakfast. I brush my teeth, shower and watch the news at 7:56 each morning on WJLA. I never miss the weather.

Meteorologist Brian van de Graaff guides me like a coin-seeking palm reader grabbing my hand on the streets of New York City. Forecasts of windy, sunny, or partially cloudy like life-lines or love-lines help me predict my future and plan my day. I pack a long-sleeved shirt, an umbrella, or sunglasses. I wear boots or plan to eat my lunch outside. I prepare my mind for a day that will inevitably feel out of my control.

I wonder now if my mother, alone in her single motherhood, lusted after that control the way I do now. Knowing what she could expect when she walked out the door was one step up on a life that had succeeded in throwing her for loop. Understanding loss, paying the bills, and feeding the kids were all up in the air - but she would never let the universe catch her without an umbrella.