When I walked out of my apartment building today to head across the street and into Floyd’s for my coffee, I remarked to myself (silently, inside my head) how much the air looked like Winter.
I didn’t realize until about five minutes ago that there’s a special weather statement indicating that “SNOW MAY POSSIBLY DEVELOP DOWN CLOSE TO THE VALLEY FLOORS LATER TODAY AND THROUGH THIS EVENING IN THE NORTH AND CENTRAL WILLAMETTE VALLEY.”
That’s not me shouting, but rather me being too lazy to take the all-caps weather bulletin and make it lowercase.
It goes on to say that “ACCUMULATIONS OF A COUPLE OF INCHES ARE POSSIBLE THROUGH THE FIRST HALF OF TONIGHT.”
The amusing thing us how much of a wuss I’ve become about the weather. Having grown up in upstate New York, an afternoon where it is overcast, windy, and 42 degrees is pretty much nothing. But everytime I’ve set foot outside today I’ve found myself thinking how damned cold it is.
So acclimated to the local climate have I become that I’ve lost my sense of weather perspective. It’s all relative, I suppose. But, still, how lame is that?