DEFLATED

Well, it’s all over … and it never even really got started.

We sit here in our sad pool of disappointment, our expectations unmet, our excitement dissolving into a bland mush of just another winter day.  They promised us a storm and all we got was 17 snowflakes.

That’s right - 17.  I counted.

For Prairie People it’s hard to explain how we feel about our weather to those whose climates are more mundane.  Our very genetics make us vulnerable to wild weather intoxication.  This is a land of climate extremes populated by fanatical people.  We do 40 degrees above zero in the summer and 40 below in the winter.  We have the best thunderstorms on the planet.  We can go from drought to deluge in under 24 hours.  Everything we build eventually leans to the east due to almost constant prevailing winds out of the northwest.  We absolutely view adverse weather as a challenge, not a curse.  There’s nothing like seeing tornado hunters in our area to quicken our blood in the summer, and the word ‘blizzard’ perks us all up out of our winter doldrums. 

We are weather watchers, all of us.  Not in the TV sense though.  To tune into The Weather Channel is an exercise in frustration for Prairie People.  The place on their big map featuring the prairie provinces is where the weather guy or gal stands to point to the east and west ends of the country, like we don’t even exist.  It’s rude, really, and damaging to our egos.

And anyway, we prefer to watch our weather in person, with the wind sand blasting our faces, the wind chill solidifying our body parts, the sun baking any unprotected skin it can find.  Since the advent of cell phones has put a permanent camera in everyone’s pocket, I dare you to find a prairie phone without weather/sky pictures in their albums.  They don’t have “Land of the Living Skies” on our license plates for nothing.

Cell phones also serve another role in our weather fascination – through weather warning apps we are apprised of all the details we can’t be bothered watching TV for.  I think I’m as tuned into the particular sound a weather warning makes on my phone as any personal text … three little notes that go up in scale kind of like when a question is posed.  It makes it sound like “What is coming next?”  So very fitting.

And, for the past few days those notes began coming fast and furious.  After months of languishing with nothing exciting weather-wise, we were finally in for a blow.  Although the experts were refusing to use the word ‘blizzard’ because there are certain criteria to be met (wind, snow, temperatures, and duration) they still promised enough pizzazz to make us sit up and take notice.

It’s our self reliance that makes us happy to see trouble on the horizon.  After all, how can we prove we can take care of ourselves in hostile conditions if we are not confronted with hostile conditions? 

Folks with wood burning stoves made sure their wood supply was topped up.  Generators were made ready.  Groceries were bought.  Snow blowers were tuned up.  Books and puzzles were on hand.  The supply of popcorn and hot chocolate were double checked.

The excitement built for the better part of the week, almost like a balloon was filling with the air of anticipation we were all feeling.  By Friday night the balloon was stretched tight, almost bursting with our bring-it-on energy, and flying high; its surface taut and shiny like the gleam in our eyes. 

But while we were all so busy preparing we hadn’t noticed that the warnings had become fewer and farther between.  By bedtime Saturday night our weather balloon had begun to droop.

Sunday morning saw all 17 snowflakes fall between 7:30 and 9:15 with enough wind that they didn’t fall straight to the ground.

Later, as I was vacuuming I found a balloon the grandkids had left here a few weeks ago.  It was tucked away under a chair; that dusky, wrinkly color balloons fade to when they die a slow death

And I thought to myself:“I know how you feel, buddy.  I know how you feel.”