Pascal, Mon Amour!

What’s on my mind? Weather.

Dork! It’s pouring! 

(I don’t see any rain …)

Idiot! There’s a gale! 

(I don’t see any wind …)

Fool! There’s lighting! 

(I don’t see any lightning …)

Moron! It’s snowing! 

(I don’t see any snow …)

Dolt! It’s 999 hPa! 

(Wha-???)

Himself and I are the proud owners of a “weather predictor.” I’ve started to learn many mysterious weather terms, among them, “hPa” (otherwise known as “hectopascal”). I once dated a Pascal. He was French, and so, I think, is “hPa.” I now have 999 of them to worry about, as if I didn’t already have enough on my plate. 

Our weather predictor is a practiced liar. Many of the things it says about the weather aren’t true, but - like a stopped clock being right twice a day - will be true if we wait long enough. 

Isn’t technology great?

It was once said that everybody talked about the weather, but nobody did anything about it. I did. I looked out the window. The sun, the sky, and the clouds were a reasonably reliable weather predictor until technology invaded our lives.  

I see no rain. No gales. No lightning. No snow. No hPa. No Pascal either, but that’s fine by me. Pascal had a big ego and a small brain, even if he did speak French.

We have a second weather predictor in the kitchen. This weather genius says it’s 38 deg. F - not 42, as the one in the bedroom says. Probably, each is right. Hot stuff tends to happen in bedrooms.  

The kitchen predictor’s my favorite. It’s also more accurate. When the weather’s iffy, the little man who lives inside the kitchen predictor stands under his umbrella, which means it will probably rain. The little man is prepared for anything. I love it when he wears his bathing suit and gives me his “come-hither” look.

Weather makes me think of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (doesn’t everyone?), who wrote “There was a Little Girl”:

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good

She was very, very good,

And when she was bad she was horrid.

It’s sleeting, now. I know that because the little man says so, even though the sky is clear and he’s still lollygagging in his bathing suit, which makes me want to “come-hither.” I think I’ll name him Pascal.

©  Nicole Parton, 2019