Thunder and Lightning

I have managed, over the past four years, to accept it. To embrace the stifling, sticky summers of Northern Virginia and thrive in the oppressive heat that normally hits this region in July and August. That’s saying something, too, because I grew up in the pleasant weather pattern of Southern California, with its gently blowing ocean breezes and picture-perfect January days.

I never did humidity. Or snow. Quite frankly I looked down on those stupid enough to live where it was even a factor. I would scoff at the Michiganders who looked at their television sets on New Year’s Day and cried. Hah. You have snow drifts and I have sunshine. Deal with it. And while you’re at it, deal with another loss to USC.

Except for France, South Africa and maybe Australia, there is no weather quite as good and pleasant and just darn wonderful as Southern California. Sure, the heat can burn your lips, the smog will make your eyes water and the utter lack of anything resembling a season is quite boring. There is no Spring in So Cal. Just a cooler summer. And indeed the worst weather-related crisis I have ever suffered through came in California, on Labor Day. No power and extreme heat upwards of 118 made for three sweaty, stinky days.

On the balance of things, however, if weather were a woman So Cal would be a super model. Northern Virginia would be the girl who is pretty — as long as you look at her at just the right angle and at the right time of day.

Right now is not the right time to look at that girl.
It’s so humid outside that I can see the moisture; so hot that the cat wants in and the dog refuses to go for a walk. The air makes it difficult to breathe, and the outdoors smells like rotten corn or foot fungus. Ugh. NoVa isn’t supposed to get this hot, this soon, and the fact that the Great Swamp is sweltering makes me wonder if good ‘ole Albert was more prophet than looney professor.

It’s 10 pm and a savage thunderstorm just strolled in from West Virginia, home of coal and poisonous snake preachers. The power is gone and the night sky is lit up like a strobe light, flashing and pulsating, growling and banging. It’s slightly scary, definitely exciting and altogether better than another typical, boring day of blue skies and 77 degrees.

I guess I was never one for super models, anyway.

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