I'm in for the day, folks. It's not because of the half foot of snow piled outside my window. Because, as Mark predicted, that just didn't happen. Mark is a weather curmudgeon. If Millionaire weather man Gary England or the 4-Warn Storm Team are interrupting local programing for an important weather advisory, with their big logos and tense, attention-grabbing music, Mark is sitting on the couch mumbling "it's gonna miss us" under his breath.
Which is good I guess, when it comes to dire warnings about bowling ball sized hail or ten feet of snow in March. OK, I exaggerate; and usually some part of the state gets pounded as predicted. Just not always us. Mark pulls up the weather map and watches the radar and the direction in which the storm is moving and makes his own prediction for Bethany. Angela still calls him some mornings to ask him what the weather will be for the day so she'll know how to dress for playground duty. Guess he's shown more reliability than the television weather dudes.
Did I ever tell you about the time we were in Galveston waiting to board a cruise the next day? We were considering a sunset walk on the beach and I wondered aloud what time the sun set. Without hesitating he answered "7:12". Oh, OK then. Let's take a walk. He just knows weird things like that.
If a sport involves a ball and there are also numbers involved, his brain absorbes the stats like white on rice. I'm sure he has the entire NCAA March Madness bracket in his head, easily moving winning teams into the next slot without benefit of paper. It's a phenomenon.
But he can't remember that Monday is trash day. I just don't get that.
1 comment:
It's called selective memory. Affects a lot of men.
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