Severe weather is in the forecast—heavy winds, thunder, lightning, rain. Naturally, I have the National Weather Service radar pulled up because, after sifting through the conflicting chaos of social media and my weather app, I need the real source. A tornado watch is posted three hours west. Typical. The South doesn’t just have weather—it performs it. The humidity morphs into storms like it has a flair for the dramatic, and keeping up feels like tracking a soap opera.
And yet, I’m completely hooked—about as much as a Superbowl Seahawks fan when Russell Wilson threw that interception instead of handing it off to the best running back in the game, Marshawn Lynch. Someone, I won’t name names, is still bitter.
It’s 10:35 p.m., and the back door to the screened-in porch is open. Because are you kidding me? It’s 74 degrees, and we’re only halfway through March. The storm isn’t here yet, but the breeze feels incredible.
Am I boring you about the weather? Because I think I’m starting to bore myself—my mind is wandering. Probably because I’m exhausted. Today, I swam with my niece, nephew, and Evelyn. I planted more vegetables. I pointed out a flock of common grackles, which, by the way, are criminally underrated. And we ordered pizza. What a solid day.
And I studied Spanish. As an A2/B1 intermediate learner, I nearly threw in the towel yesterday. After running into conflicting rules and reading sentences that scrambled into a four-color Play-Doh mess in my brain, I found myself wondering why I even bother. Can you imagine just enjoying your day off, only for that to happen? It felt like all my effort had been spoiled.
Still, I’m past the point of quitting. I’m invested. Like how a zebra bites down and doesn’t let go—one of the reasons it can’t be domesticated like a horse—I’m a zebra.
Now? Now I wait for the storm.
I hope you had a precious day of a day. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 