991 Weather Report

A blog is a "web log," a diary you keep on the internet. Therefore, it is OK to place an entry in your very own personal diary about the crazy weather. It is April 24, 2005, Dear Diary, 3:30 in the afternoon, and snowing. Even in Ohio, I think this is a record. My daughter called from Cleveland last night to check on our weather. They had gone up to help her in-laws and she had become quite ill and was checking on travel conditions for the trip home. They already had an inch on the ground in Cleveland, but we just had a mist, I told her. By 6:30 this morning, I looked out over stretches of white. But I must say, a coating of snow on the bright green grass, the flowering crabs and the yellow and red tulips is an awesome sight.

Occasionally, I look at my mother's letters, but only for her hand writing. Mother was a saint, everyone says so, but even reading between the lines I can't find her. Her letters were crop and weather reports, and somehow, re-reading how the garden was doing and what storm had just passed on June 14, 1973 isn't terribly fascinating 30+ years later. Except to recall how she looked in the garden in her straw hat, her fingers twitching in wet leather gloves waiting for me to finish talking so she could get back to the weeding. And the storms are lovely to recall, because here in the city we might see something coming up over the trees suddenly, but staring out over the soybeans and corn in Lee County Illinois, the storms are magnificent, rolling, boiling, and sometimes fooling you and skipping on over to Amboy or Rochelle.

One time back in the 1950s we children found my father's letters written while he was a Marine in WWII. Daddy had won an award for typing at Polo high school--30 wpm I think I saw on the card. It was that, or possibly his age (30 when he enlisted) or number of dependants, that probably kept him out of combat to return home to his wife, four children, large extended family, and job at the end of 1945. The letters were tied with a pink ribbon and tucked under blankets in the attic chest, so of course it was an invitation for little folks to read them. Mother was a calm, reasonable, rational person who rarely raised her voice or scolded, but she decided that those letters then must be destroyed. Our discovery in the attic may be the reason her own letters were about temperatures, soil, root crops and compost. It's possible she may have written about snow in April. Some day I'll check.