I woke up this morning and it was 65 degrees. That was at 6:00 a.m., Eastern Standard Time. It's January 6th. I live in central Smartypantistan. Oh, alright, New Jersey.
As much as I love it, it was pretty weird putting on shorts this morning to head off to my morning dose of sobriety with a bunch of like-minded folks.
As we stood around yakking in the parking lot after the get-together, most of us in short-sleeved shirts, we all agreed, this was pretty weird.
By now we should've had at least one or two really good snowfalls (6" or more). Temperatures should be around 20 degrees at night and, maybe, all the way up to 35 or 40 degrees during the day. February is generally our coldest, snowiest month. But January can usually hold its own in the bitter, freezing cold department.
The weather gurus are blaming it on El Nino (Why not? We blame God for most of our problems, so we might as well throw the weather in there, too.) The Tree-Huggers are blaming it on global warming which, even if not completely true, certainly gets my vote for having played a major part in it.
Whatever. Denver is digging out from it's third major blizzard in as many weeks, livestock is dying by the thousands in southeast Colorado and Kansas, the Northwest has been getting pounded by storm after storm and, meanwhile, here in Tropical New Jersey, we're ready to start growing orchids.
If my late Irish grandmother were alive, SHE'D know what was responsible for all this. She had a world-view that was simple and direct.
She'd blame it on "the rockets." "It's not natural", she'd say in her thick Irish brogue, carefully maintained even after 40 years in this country, "to be firin' all them rockets up into the heavens."
You see, she blamed God for everything, too. God was pissed at us for firin' rockets up into his space and would take it out on us with crappy, weird weather.
I miss my Nana. She was bat-shit crazy at times, and a drunk to boot, but God, how I loved her.