That's a headline in Small Town Newspaper today. We had some snow and freezing rain last night, although what was to be two inches turned into such a small amount you can still see blades of grass poking through. I hate that.
Several years ago, husband and the girls and I were hiding out in our basement TV room. It's got a huge TV and comfy leather furniture with ottomans and cozy throw blankets, and it's where we all go to watch movies. There is a mini-kitchen in that room, as well, so you can make popcorn without having to miss a single scene. On this particular day when we were holed up and watching something kind of scary, like The Others or something like that, we were expecting a big storm.
Looking out the window in my adjacent office, you can see down the hill at the town and can see clouds rolling in, so I was occasionally checking for storm progress. I love storms—weather drama, I call it.
Slightly tense from the scariness of the movie and the rumbling thunder and blowing wind, I stood in the window and said, "The weather's coming," as if it were arriving by FedX or had just called to announce its arrival. I have been mocked by my children ever since.
So, today, when my own newspaper used the phrase, "The Weather's Here," I felt vindicated.
The weather is indeed here, as of course it always is in one form or another. I'm still waiting for it to bring a big snow along, spilling out of its pockets, the kind that will grind us all to a halt so I can relax for a minute and not have to hop in the car to head to the next thing on the schedule. What it brought today is a disappointment.