A Sunday morning in August

It is August in South Carolina. The month in which television weathermen tape their weather report and go on vacation. "Highs in the high 90s or low 100s. Folks, it's going to be hot out there. Drink plenty of water and bring your umbrella because there may be some pop-up thunderstorms with hail the size of Volkswagens. There is a chance of high winds. Have a nice day."

Sometimes, just for variety, there is a hurricane somewhere. People in SC care about hurricanes. Even if it is in the Yucatan peninsula, South Carolinians will buy bottled water, extra batteries, and white bread. You never know when those babies will change course. It's not just SC, of course. People in from Florida to Texas and up to North Carolina feel the same way.

This morning, it is sunny but hazy, which means nothing. Last night there was a magnificent storm. I think it was centered on my house. Lightning and thunder blasted at the same time. The bedroom was lit up with flashes. It was like the footage of the bombing of Baghdad. Very scary, especially with two large pine trees right outside of my bedroom window.

But there is little or no damage here. I'll send the boys out to pick up pine cones and limbs, but I don't think we'll need the chain saw. My son and daughter-in-law didn't call to tell us a tree fell on their house. I haven't heard from other family or friends, so I believe everyone is safe and sound.

At least until tonight. Got to go buy batteries...

Weathermen

Why do weathermen take credit or blame for the weather? Why do they say, "sorry, it's going to rain on Saturday, I hope that doesn't ruin your outdoor plans"?

Why do they use judgement words like "Good weather" or "Bad weather." OK, a hurricane is bad weather. I'll grant you that. But why do they call 81° in the second week in December "GOOD weather." It's not GOOD weather. Right now, I want rain, because of the continuing drought. And I want cold, because it's December, by god, and I want to wear my closet full of cute Christmas sweaters.

But no, the smarmy weather guy smiles and says, "I've ordered some spring weather for this Christmas." Oh please. Send it back. It's not my size.