I Listen to the Weatherman

I recently received an application from a meteorologist moving from the Midwest to Portland. He’s a really great person and Sara and I have both been enjoying getting to know him during the processing of his loan. Part of me wondered what a weatherman thinks of our climate out here in our neck of the woods. Does our reputation precede us? Would the wettest May that any of us can remember send even him packing?

Last week Sara and I found out. We both happened to read on his Facebook page that the rain has been so horrible that it was literally driving he and his wife to drink. How can you help but laugh when our weather has been so bad that it even affects the professional climatologists?

When my Grandfather was still alive he would often tell me that we live in “God’s country” out here in Oregon. My Grandfather was pretty grumpy at times, undeniably inappropriate, impatient and extremely confident in the correctness of his opinions. “I told you so” was one of the things he said quite often. And, like any other young impressionable boy, I loved my Grandfather fiercely. Many of the stories he would tell me revolved around life in the Northwest and all the adventures he had taken part of as a young man. Rain wasn’t really mentioned. But here I was, like the weatherman, beginning to wonder if living here was more of a punishment than a blessing.

Against all odds, when I woke up this morning the sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The trees, the grass – everything is green and beautiful. It is absolutely breathtaking. Suddenly, all that rain seems worth it. I hope my weatherman is also reveling in this day. Who cares whether the forecast is right or wrong when a day is this nice?

My Grandfather was right. And right next to my ear, in a quiet whisper, I can hear my Grandfather, plain as day, “I told you so.”


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