Friday, October 4, 2013

Barometric Pressure

The northwest corner of Washington state has the fastest changing weather patterns in the entire country. As I gaze out at the silver sea, from the comfort of an idyllic cabin that sits on the bluff of a tiny island in the San Juan archipelago, this truth is self-evident.

Here, Mother Nature’s hormones rage in the winter season; during the between period of Fall, her pre-winter emotions run high: one minute sweeping rain, the next minute a burst of sunshine whimsy, followed by gusting blasts of wind and rain that finally settle down with a gentle and demure mist. And then it begins anew within the hour.

She is less tempermental in Southern California; the sun reliably beats down upon its inhabitants and the rain comes rarely. When it does, droplets have a definite beginning and a certain ending - rarely ever changing moods midway. Thus, to venture out for a leisurely walk on this northwest island in the Pacific, one has a certain suspicion...will it be cold, wet, hot, damp, or misty? Being a city slicker at heart, this uncertainty has kept me close to the hearth of the every-burning wood stove, another unfathomable miracle for one who has gas jets in her SoCal fireplace to jump start any piece of wood whether it be wet, dry, small or large.

The barometer in this elegantly appointed cabin has become my best friend. Never having used one ( I declined to decipher the one my father kept in the basement), it now becomes an obsession. This brass encased wonder tells me what Mom’s inclinations should be for the next hour or so, and this little weather forecaster has given me courage and hope that something in life offers predictability - which is more than the US Congress offers at this juncture.

News of our government's shut down raises uncertainty at best; all of the Republican Southern States (save Arkansas and we probably have to thank Billy for that) have rejected The Affordable Health Care Act, thus leaving the poorest and most in need, frankly f....d. Fill in the blanks.

Rage is not exactly the feeling twisting through my chest right now. It feels more like a wrathful anger, the kind that makes one stand up and shout "No more!"

But will we? Shall we?

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