With
the stroke of several souvenir pens that will likely end up on eBay,
President Joe Biden recently enacted sweeping executive orders related
to climate change-specifically aimed at saving the arctic tufted titmouse
and encouraging the transition of all fuel-burning vehicles to Flintstones
cars. Seriously, though, these actions mark an important shift in
favor of clean energy, which is like regular energy, but with less
B.O.
While these efforts to slow climate change may seem admirable to some,
radical temperature changes are (and have always been) an inevitable
and disconcerting way of life for those of us living in the weather-fluid
South, especially in East
Texas, where the dead of winter often chooses to identify as late
spring or early summer.
It's like the atmosphere is suffering from a continual state of low
T- including hot flashes, night sweats, and general irritability-as
it coaxes us into donning our favorite and rarely used woolen sweater
on a frigid February morning, only to incite our sweat glands to insurrection
against our underwear in the afternoon. Just the other night, a meteorologist
on the local television news referred to our extended forecast as
a "roller coaster." (I'm thinking about calling for his impeachment.)
Take our recent snow day, for instance, when East Texans stormed the
local Walmart for staples like bread, milk, and Wolf Brand Chili.
Even before the snow had accumulated, my wife and I started rounding
up the proper winter-frolicking attire, which included enough layers
for an extended arctic research expedition. Sure, we looked like freshly-baked
pigs in blankets modeling for Lands' End, but at least we would stay
warm and appetizing. My three teenage daughters, on the other hand,
dressed with Instagram selfies in mind, trying to ignore the fact
that their toes were turning into freezer-burnt tater tots.
Our winter-ish wonderland lasted for approximately twelve hours, and
a few days later, we were back to sporting our beachwear and blinding
one another with the glare from our arms and legs.
One of my primary concerns is how these wild weather fluctuations
are affecting our children. For instance, during winter months my
youngest daughter dresses in a perpetual state of fashion emergency,
usually consisting of a thick jersey hoodie, a pair of Nike running
shorts, and flip flops. (As a caring father with a keen sense of style,
I've tried to convince her that sandals are only appropriate this
time of year when combined with a pair of black dress socks.)
My eldest daughter has given up trying to adjust the temperature in
her bedroom according to the weather. Instead, she constantly runs
her ceiling fan on turbo, keeping the climate at a crisp permafrost
and sleeping under enough blankets to finish melting the polar ice
cap.
And speaking of melting, my middle daughter just incessantly complains
about how hot she is. I usually respond by asking her whether I need
to turn on the A/C or if she's repeating something her current boyfriend
told her. (Cue the almighty teenage eye-roll.)
Although I care deeply about the earth and God's creatures that share
it with us (especially the ones I can eat), I'm not sure any action
taken by politicians will have much effect on the stubbornly unpredictable
East Texas weather. After living here for half a century, I've found
that it's just best to adapt by maintaining a schizophrenic wardrobe,
a healthy supply of deodorant, and a trusty stash of Wolf Brand Chili. |
HOME
