Tag Changes

A peek into the new year

Michael 2 Comments

I hope everyone is enjoying this holiday season. And a season it is indeed! Did you know between December and January, 19 religious and secular holidays are celebrated? Truly the middle of winter – or summer depending on which side of the equator you find yourself – is a magical time.

The next big holiday as far as the stores and restaurants are concerned pops up next week when we break out our new date books, calendars, and planners, and celebrate the beginning of 2025. Who had a quarter of a century in the “at least how long we make it through the 2000’s” pool?

The new year will bring a new focus to ROAMcare. Our theme for our 2026 activities is “Live, Love, Share,” and next Wednesday’s Uplift will introduce members and readers to exciting new opportunities to grow and share the ROAMcare community as we re-open the user forums.

The new year will bring other new changes to ROAMcare and I thought I’d share them, just in case you visit us next Wednesday and don’t recognize the place. It won’t be big, but the website will get a minor facelift, and we hopefully will have the bugs worked out of the blog comments routine, not to mention the automated emails that seem to have multiplied for no reason.

We’re also reviewing our presence on social media. Starting January 1, you will also find us on Blue Sky and shortly after that, Tic Tok. We’re also differentiating our social feeds and we are looking to revive our YouTube channel with at least YouTube Shorts. I would love to see us bring back the ROAMcare on Air podcast but until one or both of us can be successfully cloned that may have to wait until 2026.

There is still 2024 to close out and Uplift subscribers can expect a FLASHBACK FRIDAY offering tomorrow and a new Moment of Motivation on Monday. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should pop over and read yesterday’s Christmas post. Nope, Christmas Post is a misnomer. Remember those 19 winter holidays? We think it speaks to all of them.

Happy Holidays! God bless us, every one.

Give yourself a present by subscribing to Uplift today. Join the ROAMcare community and subscribe to have Uplift delivered to your email as soon as it hits the website. In addition to an Uplift release every Wednesday, you will also receive weekly our Monday Moment of Motivation and the email exclusive Flashback Friday repost of one of our most loved publications every Friday. All free and available now at ROAMcare.org.

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And Now…Something Sort of Different

Michael 2 Comments

A few years ago I had a great idea to change the name of the blog. The Real Reality Show Blog made sense in the beginning as a response to the reality being foisted upon us by cable television so-called reality shows. Come on now, let’s have a show of hands, how many think those housewives are really real. And not to spoil anybody’s surprise, on almost any of those shows where somebody gets surprised, didn’t you ever wonder how the producers managed to get the surprise-ees mic’ed up without them knowing it. So, since the reality of those shows was more than a little in question, the Real Reality Show Blog filled the gap with real stuff, real places, and real people from wherever I really happened to be.

Over time (a lot of time – I started writing this drivel in 2012!) the reality wasn’t any less but it was sometimes augmented with commentary, thoughts, and suppositions. It became more the musings of some old, single, white guy. In fact, the first alternate name I thought of for the blog was just that – Old Single White Guy. Even though it describes me to a T, it really pushes the bounds of political correctness. And then I thought, oh no, I can’t call it that because any time I started following a new blog the blogger would get an e-mail from WordPress stating, “Congratulations! Old Single White Guy just started following you!” and I just don’t have the money to spend on keeping a lawyer on retainer.

It was clear that my first thought was not my best thought. Not surprising considering I recently wrote an entire post about poor first thoughts. And then it hit me! The famous sign from that post, the one I’m looking at while I’m writing this. The one I’ve looked at writing almost every post for the last almost ten years. Don’t Believe Everything You Think. That’s it! I got it and I got it good. Or bad.  Or whichever is good nowadays. That could be “THE” perfect name for this perfectly imperfect nonsense.

Yep, Don’t Believe Everything You Think. But I’ve built a brand. How will people find me? Duh, who the … um, who might be looking for me. I’ve never “advertised.” I’ve never linked from there to here from the various there’s I haunt – cyberly speaking that is. Yet somehow in just the last 4 years people have landed on this site over 20,000 times. If I only had a nickel. [Sigh] Not to worry though. I’m not changing the name of this blog so if you haven’t subscribed but you just know how to get here you can keep getting here however that is. But I am using the name for a new podcast version of this.

You’ve all seen the notices from WordPress, turn your blog into a podcast. Well, it seems easy enough and I want to experiment a little.  If I’ve done this right, you should find a link Don’t Believe Everything You Think on the Anchor platform where you will hear me reading this drivel. And some other stuff. And each time I do this there’ll be more other stuff. Go listen and please come back here and tell me what you think. (This particular drivel you should find right here.)

01a39c24efcfb5bde1debe2de75e473c90853c0da5e44078e88df466a2e22901.0And remember, even though you may not have known it, chances are pretty good that there’s an old, single, white guy following you.

Oh, one more thing. When I set that up over there, or over here if you’re now listening instead of reading, they ask for a category I guess so they can figure out where to pigeonhole you. What could I say about this? There isn’t a category for claptrap. So I called it a personal journal. And that reminded me of something. You’ve heard me speak of my daughter many times. She does many things, including writing. For her though it’s professional. Yeah, she actually makes money writing. She’s written something new that’s not meant to be read but to encourage others writing. I thought of this when I was selecting “personal journal” for my category. She’s written journal prompts, but I think pretty cleverly. She’s developed a card deck of prompts. According to her, “Everyone has a story, but not everyone knows what their story is.” The deck has 52 cards packed in a study box. Go check them out, at Untitled. She doesn’t know I’m telling you this, so if you see her, don’t say anything. Thanks.

Seeing Isn’t Believing

Michael Leave a comment
It’s been a busy past couple of weeks. What days haven’t been spent at doctor appointments have been spent at dialysis,  then last Friday I made an unplanned trip to the outpatient surgery unit to have my fistula opened. Something I’ve taken note of on all these trips is how the view has changed on the same roads since the beginning of this month.
 
Thanks to the miracle of arbochemistry, and my decision to take residence along the hills and mountains of Western Pennsylvania, I’ve been treated to the increasingly colorful forests that can be seen from almost any road between here and there in the area. 
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Of course you do know that those oranges and reds that we wait for each fall are always in the leaves. We can’t see them in July because there is so much chlorophyll in the leaves that only its green is visible. As the air cools and the light fades less chlorophyll is produced, the camouflage is lifted, and those vibrant fiery colors come out of hiding. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean those colors weren’t there last month. Don’t believe me? Ask your favorite tree.
 
Leaves aren’t there only things that hide all their colors. Across America Election Day is fast approaching. “Off year elections” it’s called. Some states are fortunate enough to have Governor or state house and row office elections this year. In a couple weeks here in Pennsylvania, like many states, all we will have to vote for are county, school district, and municipal offices. 
 
I haven’t seen one ad, recieved one post card, or heard one news story for any local office even though local government is the one that most closely touches people’s lives. But everywhere campaigning abounds. Just not for this year. There are all kinds of news about what’s coming up in a year and a couple weeks. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing though. As the campaign seasons change, support becomes cooler, and somebodies’ dreams fade, their veneer will be replaced by what was always there, just hidden from view by large quantities of camouflage. It could turn out to be quite fiery. How vibrant may be a different story.
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Summer Eve

Michael 2 Comments

Friday is the first day of summer here. Actually it’s the first day of summer everywhere north of 0° latitude and points south of there will see the first day of winter. Either way the day will usher in a change of seasons. If you are reading this while standing on the equator please step one way or the other and join us. Thank you.

Okay, from this point I’d written another few hundred words on how like the seasons my life has changed. I couldn’t post that. It was depressing. Even to me. You know what? I’m not the only one who has changed. In some fashion we’ve all changed – some planned, some expected, some surprisingly, some shockingly, some barely. But change we have and like the seasons we will get about 3 months to acclimate to our new normal just in time for the next big (or little) change and we’ll deal with it and wait another few months and do it again.

If we got everything we wanted we would never have a reason to try for something better, we’d never try for more, we’d never wish for something else. Getting what we want is good and fun and satisfying but do we want to be just satisfactory?

So yes, Friday is the first day of summer, or winter, but don’t get too used to it. Like everything else in life the only thing you can count on it to do is change. In a way, that’s actually pretty refreshing.

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Those Were The Days

Michael 1 Comment

I’ve been spending the past several evenings watching Bond, James Bond movies going all the way back to the first offering from 1962. I was reminded, happily reminded, of how courteous people were back then. Everyone dressed well, everyone said please and thank you, everyone treated each other with respect. If I hadn’t lived through it myself I would say this was a romanticized version of mid-century life, but it wasn’t. At least it wasn’t where I lived and that wasn’t London, or New York, or Kingston, Jamaica. Nor was it spent in high class casinos, private clubs, or Caribbean resorts. It was a dinky little steel mill town in Western Pennsylvania and people still dressed well, said please and thank you, and treated each other with respect. If it had been sunnier more days than it was it could have been the set of Leave It To Beaver.

I was just about to type that the movies are part of a month long festival of sorts courtesy of the Starz/Encore networks. That’s not quite true. The movies are indeed part of a month long Bond, James Bond celebration airing on the Starz/Encore channels but they are there to see courtesy of myself by way of my monthly cable bill. And I think that is part of why I miss those original days of Bond, James Bond. No, the cable channel wouldn’t have paid for my movies back then. We all know there wasn’t cable then. Movies were at the theater. Where you dressed for the day out, said “please” when asking for a ticket and “you’re welcome” in response to the “thank you” the cashier would cheerfully tell you. Where the movie, popcorn, soft drink, and bus fare to get there and back could be had for the dollar bill mom gave you and let you keep the change. Today that 1962 fifty cent movie is included as part of my $140 monthly cable bill. And I have to provide my own popcorn and drink.

MarqueeThe last time I went to a Bond, James Bond movie at a theater it cost me $9.50 and when I passed over my $20 bill I got a ticket, the wrong change, and a “there ya go.” When I pointed out the error I was rewarded with the insipid “my bad.” At the concession stand I spent $7.50 for a soft drink, the required purchase to redeem my FREE POPCORN! coupon, during a wordless transaction other than my “small popcorn and Sprite” at its beginning and my “thank you” at its conclusion. (I’m still not sure why I thank the seller when I purchase something. Please tell me I’m not the only one.)

Even ignoring the almost 27 fold increase in the monetary outlay, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Oh it wasn’t unpleasant. Nobody tried to pick my pocket, the crowd in the cinema was mostly quiet, and I didn’t spill my sticky soft drink onto my lap. Conversely, nobody said “excuse me” as they climbed over the lady in the row in front of me to get to the only seats that would satisfy them, nobody apologized for knocking the sticky soft drink into the lap of the unfortunate lady who was climbed over, and almost everybody dashed out of the theater as if someone actually yelled fire at the movie’s end. The niceties that were there in Those Good Old Days weren’t there and probably will never return.

If you should be unfortunate enough to ever mention this, particularly if you ever mention this to someone whose only experience with those late-50s early-60s days were through old movies or syndicated reruns of the Beaver, you may be rebuked for your naiveté and wistful but obviously wrong recollection of a time that wasn’t. But for me it was, they were, and it still is not a bad thing to aspire.

And now I have to run to the store and pick up popcorn for tonight’s showing. If I’m lucky, I might find a coupon.

 

Give Me a Break

Michael 2 Comments

Everything starts to run slower every now and then and can be fixed if you unplug it then plug it back it. Even you. This sage advice is brought to you by the people who marketed the first home computers way back in the dark ages, like 1970something. That it’s still true today isn’t surprising. That you need to unplug even from unpluggedness isn’t something I would have before imagined.

When I was working I always looked forward to time off. Not a day or a weekend. Not a week around the holidays when you worked harder at cooking and cleaning and then celebrating and recovering than you did before taking the time off. Real time off. A week on a beach on an island that has spotty cell coverage and Wi-Fi is something you ask when questioning the use of the 21st letter of the Greek alphabet. That kind of time off.

If you’re still of working age I strongly urge you to consider using some of your time for actual time off. Even if it is just a day or a weekend, make it a day or a weekend of unpluggedness. Maybe you can use it to come up with a better word than unpluggedness. Lexicologists excepted. And if you’re still working then by all means take a break from not working.

Here’s my logic. As I said, when I was working I looked forward to my time off. I also looked forward to going to work. Yes, I was one of those people who loved my work. I didn’t mind if I was in early, worked through break times, worked late, worked extra, or covered others. Preferably not all in the same day but if it happened I still made the best of it. But even though I was doing what I loved I wasn’t going to be fooled into believing that sampler waiting to happen “when you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life” resembles truth. Doing anything well, even something you like, takes work. That’s how you get good at it. And work, even at doing something you like, is tiring. Exhausting even.

You need that break from work to recharge so you can do it again. That’s why so many companies have a “use it or lose it” policy regarding vacation time. No, it’s not so they can work you to death and then not give you what (you think) you’re entitled to. They have it so you’ll be forced to take time because so many seem to think that by denying yourself time off you’ll make it look like you’re such a great worker they can’t do without and you’ll never get let go. Actually, not taking time off only means you get burned out, end up doing a half-assed job, and get let go. That’s why I insisted those who worked in my department took their time off even if I had to schedule it for them myself. That’s also why, having managed to work myself up to a position of getting rewarded with 5 weeks of available time off each year I took as many of them as I could, often within a day or two of all five weeks. It might be why I enjoyed what I did. Because I took the time to recharge. Even when I was just starting and got all of two weeks vacation, between taking time off for the holidays and family activities, I always tried to take a couple of days off to just be off.

Now that I’m not working every day should be a holiday, right? Well, not so. You know that not working was not originally my idea. Those guys called doctors as well as those body parts called mine got together and decided it was better for my health, wellbeing, and continued living to start taking time off on a more or less permanent basis. Not working has not been fun, and I was sure it was because I wanted to work.  Ah, but I was wrong.

Perhaps at the beginning of not working, not working was not fun. But I’ve been not working for 3 years now. I should be used to it. Used to it I am. Enjoying it I am not. That is until I “took time off” from being off and started doing new things out of the routine that I had established in lieu of working. It really doesn’t matter what the routine is; what matters is that it is a routine. It was going to work at not working. But in the last 2 months I took a break from that. I didn’t a adhere to the routine, and I feel more refreshed, more positive, and more anticipating of returning to, you guessed it, my new old routine.

If I can keep taking some time off from myself like that more often, I might get used to this not working thing.

 

Fire Sale

Michael 24 Comments

If your house was on fire and you could carry one thing out of it with you, what would it be? A question like that has been asked for ages. In philosophy classes, on psych papers, over drinks at happy hour, in bible groups, at marriage counseling. It should be getting easier to answer. Or maybe not.

When asked the question, in public the answers all sound very altruistic. My baby. My pet. The picture of my long dead parents, long suffering spouse, long loved child. In private we’d probably say, grab the tablet, CD, or memory stick with all our family financial info and maybe the one with pictures too if possible, or the purse or wallet with driver’s license and the credit cards because who wants that replacement hassle right after the house burns down. No! Get the phone!

I really was thinking about this recently. If I could save just one thing, what one thing would I want above all that I may risk my life to get?

My grandparents might have had a really hard time answering. Both trunks of my family tree started their branches in this country during World War I. Although not yet the depression Era as far as the United States was concerned, the European bank scare of 1914 had a dramatic effect on the Italian economy and its people. When they emigrated they took their distrust for banks with them. If it was of value, it was in the house. A fire would be devastating to the future of the family unless all of the children, 12 on my mother’s side, were old enough, big enough, and strong enough to each bring at least one item with no room for sentiment.

By the time my parents were contributing boomed babies to the landscape, the American economy was on an upswing and even middle class families had nest eggs that could be proudly secured by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. Up to $10,000 per depositor at the time. Like now though, nobody but the very rich had $10,000 nest eggs. But they still didn’t trust everything to the banks. Safety deposit boxes were for rich people. Personal treasures and savings bonds purchased almost painlessly through the Payroll Savings Plan were secreted in a strong box, itself cached away at the back of a linen drawer, the bottom of a cedar chest or top shelf of a closet, or among the pantry items in the newfangled built-in kitchen cabinets. In case of evacuation, a responsible adult, probably the dad, was in charge of collecting the canned collectibles, while another adult of authority went after more sentimental treasures.

My generation was the tween of generations. Everything from the first half of my life is on paper, the last 2 or 3 decades could and does fit easily on a flash drive. I have a strong box but other than my passport almost nothing in there is irreplaceable. Almost nothing else in there is probably worth trying to replace. If I was running from a fire I have to pleasure of knowing that I could grab all the sentimental items like the picture album filled with a record of the daughter’s formative years and perhaps a cherished bobble head.

But wait! I should go get that passport. I doubt I’ll be doing much travelling in the future but just in case I win one of those crazy on line raffles for an all-expense paid trip to Iceland, I’d hate to have to decline because I’m waiting on replacement documents proving who I am and what I look like. So that settles it, pictures, passport, and a cherished bobble head.

My essentials

My essentials

Oh no. But wait again (he says somberly). Forget the albums. Forget the bobble head. Forget the passport. (I’m going to have to find a more readily reachable place for that.) I forgot even more essential, if not sentimental items that I have to have. I have them with me all the time so I sometimes don’t consider that I actually have to carry them for them to be with me all the time. One is my cane. I can walk without it. For about 20 or 30 yards. About 50 to 100 feet depending on the day. That might get me as far as across the street from the theoretical blaze, but unless I’m planning on camping there forever, or unless I want to live the rest of my life 100 feet at a time, I better grab the cane.

That still leaves one hand free. Why not snag that cherished bobble head? Well…this a little personal. So much so that I don’t even tell people what’s in the bag I always have if someone who even suspects that it’s anything other than just a small day bag should ask. It’s a small bag but it’s huge in what it means to me.

You might recall from two posts ago that I am pretty much running on spare parts and that some of those parts actually are performing functions they were not originally designed to. And they require some help. That ever present bag carries the external pieces my spare-parted body needs to perform some otherwise routine internal functions. Yeah, that’s more than a little cryptic, but let’s say I can’t go but about 6 hours without it.

So. Two hands. Two things I sort of need more than pictures, bobble heads, or even passport. It looks like for me, like it was a couple of generations ago, there’s no room for sentiment.

Now I’m curious. What would you carry out?

 

Technical Resistance

Michael 8 Comments

I try to take responsibility for myself as much as I can in all aspects that I can reach. As long as I can reach them comfortably. Including my health. So when the good folks that bring me my delightful dialysis sessions announced an opportunity to “take control of your kidney health and experience better outcomes” I jumped at the chance. Who couldn’t resist better outcomes in anything you take on? Then they started throwing around words like “empowered” and “easy” in the same paragraph even. And they got me with, “Start managing your kidney care with your Portal today and gain more time to do the things you love. Register today and Thrive On” (Emphasis not even added. They’re good.) How can I not want to take advantage of gaining more time to do the things I love? I was hooked.

You just know this is going to go wrong somewhere, don’t you? Hmm.

Looking forward to actively participating in my care, I carefully filled out the many screens of information that they requested, chose my password, and awaited the confirmation email which would contain the additional instructions for completing the registration process. In just a few seconds it came, and in just a few minutes I did what I was supposed to do. In seconds again I received another email congratulating me on successfully registering for the patient portal and was presented with a link to “log in and start actively participating in your care!” (OK, that time I added the exclamation point, but I wasn’t excited about this. Wouldn’t you be?)

I clicked, eagerly awaiting the chance to participate in my care, and attempted my first official login. In went my email address, then went in my password, then the email address and password went in to wherever they go and the little circle thing started spinning and then, low and behold (words you just don’t hear much anymore) across the screen I was presented with the message “username or password invalid.” Oh, poo! No problem. In my excitedness I probably hit a wrong key so I re-entered the username which is my email address so I know that was correct, and then, this time more carefully, my password. Almost always when denied access it’s because I incorrectly enter the password which makes sense since they never show you your password (unless it happens to be ******* and you just have to remember how many *s). But no, again that didn’t work so I gave one more try and one more time I got the same frustrating message.

I selected the link on the page for technical support and sent them an email detailing my inability to log into the patient portal (and thus my unfortunate delay in participating in my care!) and sat back to await their response. A few minutes later I saw the little envelope icon pop up at the top of the screen and I anxiously opened my email to just as anxiously read their reply, get back on track, and start participating in my care. Well imagine my disappointment when I scrolled the inbox items and saw, “Undeliverable.” Instead of the anxiously awaited reply I had a message wherein the little emailman politely explained to me that my desperate plea for help could not be sent because the addressee “wasn’t found or doesn’t exist at the destination server” and I should check to make sure I entered the address correctly, contact the intended recipient by phone, or several other options that involved things like checking licenses and permissions and other things that normal non-computer savvy people (and probably some of them, too) have no idea what any of that means. Disappointment does not begin to describe what I was feeling. “ARRRGH!” OF COURSE THE DAMN ADDRESS EXISTS. ALL I DID WAS PUSH THEIR DANM BUTTON ON THEIR DAMN WEBSITE! DAMN MORONS!” I said to myself. Calmly.

Maybe it’s just a password problem and I actually mistyped when I was selecting it. It’s possible. If I can incorrectly enter a password when trying to log onto a site I can certainly mistyped the letters, characters, numbers, and case control when first selecting the password. Of course that would mean that I would have had to make the same mistake twice since, once on the first selection entry and once on the confirmation entry, but hey, it could happen. Yeah, right.

So I attempted to log on again, knowing it would reject the login information but also knowing I would be presented with the inevitable “Forgot your password?” link. So I did. And I was. And I clicked. And in a few seconds I received another email with another link to reenter my password. So I clicked. And I reentered. Carefully. Both times. The screen blanked taking all my information again to wherever the little electrons go when they discuss these things and in less than a second I got another email! This is getting exciting. Again anxiously (though not quite as anxiously as I had been earlier), I opened the email and read the message congratulating me on successfully changing my password with a new link to log on and “start participating in my care.” (No emphasis added. By this time I was getting emphatically worn out.) Again I clicked. And again I entered username AKA email address and password AKA, uhh, password. And again I got…”username or password invalid.”

Oy.

(If you read Monday’s post and are wondering if this was what I couldn’t remember…..well, the answer to that is no. But this one is such a great story I couldn’t wait to share it. That and if I did wait I knew I would have forgotten about it. But don’t worry. I still have the sticky note stuck right there on the monitor (see?) and I’ll be writing all about it next time. Unless something else comes up between now and then. But it’s OK. There’s lots of sticky on that note. It’s not going anywhere.)

(Oh and, do you think I use too many parentheses?)

 

What’s In a Name?

Michael 2 Comments

I once read that the two most common ways a person will select an alias are turning his first name into a last name while picking a very common first name (thus John Doe becomes Bob Johns) or picking a famous person’s name then shrugging off the similarity (“Well, this is the first time we’ve had Johnny Carson stay with us,” is replied to with HMNI2“Yeah, I get that a lot.”). The problem with these is that they don’t work well for women. While Peter can become Peters and Jeffrey turns into Jeffries, what’s Melissa supposed to become or who would believe Mary Catherine unless she was wearing a habit. Why I was researching aliases is the topic for a different post.

Well, have no fear. I have the perfect manner for a person of the female persuasion to disappear into the ephemera as easily as her male counterpoint. You probably have seen this since it has been floating about the Internet in one form or another since at least 2011. Everyone has six names. Those are:

  1. Your real name
  2. Your soap opera name: Your middle name + the street you live on
  3. Your Star Trek name: First three letter of your last name + first two of your middle name+ last 2 of your first name
  4. Your superhero name: The color of your shirt + the item to your right (or left if you prefer)
  5. Goth name: “Black” + the name of one of your pets
  6. Rapper name: “Lil” + the last thing you ate

Thus George Bush (one of my favorite aliases (aliai?) becomes:

Herbert Bizzell (of course I meant Daddy Bush (really),
Bushege,
Gold Shredder,
Black Millie (we may have to work on that one), or
Lil Peanut Butter depending on the  particular alias requiring circumstance

So you see, this is not only a terrific party game but also an amazing alias break for all opportunities. Going to a night club and don’t want your significant other to find out. Have no fear Melissa Elizabeth Mainlady of 123 Elm Street, Elizabeth Elms will be your wing woman. Gong to Comic con and prefer your law office buddies don’t find out. Maielmel will cover the registration fee. Yes, the possibilities may not be endless but they should cover almost any possible alias requirement.

So now, speaking of researching aliases…oh yes, that’s a topic for another post.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

 

Five Minutes Wait

Michael Leave a comment

If you don’t like the weather just wait five minutes. It’ll change. How many times have you heard that, said that, or wished that? Unless you maybe live on St. Lucia not during hurricane season. Around here those five minute changes are actually getting fairly commonplace. It’s sort of scary sometimes. Let me take you through 48 hours of last weekend.

Friday morning followed a couple warmish days for February north of the 40th parallel. With temperatures expected to be around 40 degrees at midday we had just completed a week of daytime highs in the 50s and 60s. At wakeup time it was about 54 degrees. We should have expected it to be closer to 24 degrees but a warm week happens just as often as the cold week.

It shouldn’t have been unexpected. The forecasters actually predicted warmer weather. Even though over half of the month to date had been at or below average for February, the half that was higher was high enough to predict that this month would be the warmest February on record. Days and weeks and months of weather being any but what’s expected are expected around here. A warmest February on record didn’t get the global warming proponents any more excited than the coldest February on record in 2015 got the global warming opponents excited. We’ve come to learn to expect the unexpected. (Trite, but descriptive.)

Anyway, Friday I woke up to 54 degree weather and a morning forecast of it getting warmer. Indeed, by 1:00 it had breezed past (with calm winds) the previous date record of 70 degrees on its way to a high a few hours later of 76 degrees under clear, sunny skies. I got to see none of this being locked away against my will at the dialysis clinic. When I emerged from their binds a bit after 4:00 in the afternoon my car thermometer confirmed I was living in a parallel city that should have been occupying the Southern Hemisphere. As pleasant as it was I could honestly say I didn’t like it and wished it would change.

You see, I wanted it to change because it is still winter. As much as I have been less tolerant of colder days as I have entered my older days I still want seasons. If I didn’t enjoy a few weeks every year of rain and new growth flowers in the spring and falling leaves and brisk mornings in the fall and even cold and snow in the winter, I’d move to St. Lucia. I also wanted it to change because there a hockey game was scheduled to be played outside Saturday evening. Who wants to see outdoor hockey in mid70 degree weather. I don’t even like to go to baseball games when it’s that hot. Not to worry. God is a hockey fan and He’ll take care of it I told myself. It took a few more than five minutes.

Saturday at wake up it was the same 54 degrees that greeted me Friday morning and at 1:00 in the afternoon the weather service was still recording temperatures in the 50s. But then (probably because I was outside rather than chained to a medieval medical machine yet dressed like I was outside the day before) the temperature took a dramatic plunge. An hour later it was ten degrees colder, another hour another ten degrees and by 4:00 as I was finally home and changed into more appropriate clothing for February weather, February weather returned with a gusto (and with wind gusts approaching 40mph).

At 6:00 when the gates opened for the game the temperature had dropped to 36 degrees and snow flurries were flitting in the glow of the high intensity lighting. At face-off the recorded temp was exactly 32 degrees. And all was right with the world.

Sunday morning I woke up to the temperature at 26 degrees, a drop of 50 degrees in 40 hours. Maybe a little chilly for some but according to the weather people exactly average for the date.

Exactly average. How unimpressive is that? But it’s ok. If you don’t like it, just wait five minutes.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?