Sunday, November 8, 2009

Ida May.


I mean, friends and fans of weather, this is something to see coming, is it not? And if you're asking, How could we have a hurricane, but no baseball, why then I'd say to you, There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Or I'd say to you, It is the fault of the New York Yankees. Or I'd say to you, Hurricane season extends until the end of November, and while this is a little late, it is not entirely out of the ordinary, and it isn't even technically unseasonable. And then you would say, Why do you have to give me three separate answers for every question I ask? And I'd say to you, Bedtime, little one. Sleep tight, and dream of cheese.

One nice thing—the only nice thing?—about the time change is that one can spend all damn day pulling paneling and plywood and insulation out of one's outbuilding, then come in once it gets dark and discover that there is still plenty of evening left to turn one's attention to the tropics, to the weather at large, to a hot shower, a wee scotch, the needs of a very tired sunstruck dog, who spent all day in the yard making sure you were where you needed to be.

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