Iwas going to write about snow this week.
But there’s no snow.
Wait, yes there is!
Oh. Nope. There isn’t.
This is what living in Indiana feels like. Mother Nature faking you out for the fun of it.
She must get some kind of evil glee from watching all the children squeal with delight at seeing the falling bits of ice, hoping against hope that somehow, the scrawny little clouds that barely obscure the moonlight are going to dump half a foot of snow by the time school buses are rolling out in the morning.
Then they wake up the next morning to a few wet leaves on the ground. Their hopes ruined. Is that any way to treat children? You should be ashamed of yourself, Mother.
Logansport averages one day of snow each October and a whole week each November, according to a website calling itself MeoWeather.com. This website’s logo sports a little paw print where the W should be.
Cats make everything better. Having “meow” in its name gives this website infinite credibility.
That website also informs me that at the time of this writing, the temperature in Logansport was as cold as the second-coldest world capital: Stockholm, Sweden. We could all wear heavy parkas and pretend to be Scandinavian now.
According to my own records,* snow fell on Logansport for an entire 30 seconds in October. Mother Nature faked you out then, too. Look out the window! Oh, sorry. It didn’t even fall long enough for me to take a picture on my phone to prove it.
If snow falls and nobody Instagrams it, did it really happen?
Last weekend, we got more snow. I probably wouldn’t admit to it, but I might have pretended the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes.
I even saw snow coating the lawn an hour later. It was still gone by the next morning. It’s Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Suckas!”
Now that it’s later in November, though, I’m expecting a freak Thanksgiving blizzard to blanket the area. Maybe the extra insulation will help with your heating bills.
– Sarah Einselen
Friday editor / Needs a blanket
• According to Sarah’s Personal Dictionary, “records” is defined as “the hazy memories I have of something that may or may not have happened at all.”