On Saturday the breeze blew a gentle 84
The air, a bit thick with promise of rain
Lack of common sense scented the smoke tinged ozone as fools burned brush piles ignoring the warning of high chance of raging grass fires.
We scribbled in numbers on our tax preparer's form, scratching out explanations. I made my husband take the walk of shame to drop it off, alone. We are those people. Tax procrastinators that cause accountants to gray early and develop tics.
Sunday, the skies opened with rain. Sheets of rain, thunder, lightning, even hail.
Rain. Rain. Rain. Wet feet, soggy shoes and a long nap.
Monday. Iowa played one of her favorite games. Stump the weather man, tease the birds, torture the inhabitants who have complained about the longest. winter. ever.
Snow. 24 degrees. Snow. On top of frozen rain slicking the streets, causing delays, making for a manic Monday.
60 degrees in 72 hours.
This is Iowa. Spring in Iowa. Or Fall. Heck, it could even happen in winter.
Tax preparer must talk to me today. Needs clarification. Payback. He got the walk of shame. I have to do the talk.
There are three things that are true in Iowa. Death, taxes and crazy weather.
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.