The Weather

I live in Pittsburgh now. It is an ancient American city in the state of Pennsylvania. I’ve heard myself say, “The weather is unpredictable in Pittsburgh.” Others have said this too. Statements about the weather are no revelations. They are mere fillers in silent soliloquies in the midst of strangers. It is something we residents of this land partake in. It might not run in our blood, this talk of weather, but it surely rubs onto our skin. I’ve lived in the free land for long enough to have this weather- talk sink deep into my epidermis. My conversations begin and end with the forecast, four days prior and two days hence, thereby covering a weeks estimation. The forecasters do their arduous job with any available honest effort. Proof of this being the truth in my small talk at bus stops, and smoke pit stops.

I am not expert on weather forecasting but have read a little into it. As Lorenz discovered, the weather is a dynamic, deterministic yet unpredictable problem. From him we get a convection model for gases in our atmosphere. And from his research the world coined the science of chaos. I am no specialist in Chaotic Systems. At best my understanding of this physical and mathematical concept is sketchy. I can write bits here that talk about chaos only superficially- but its God lies in the details, and I shall pretend to be no saint seeking him. I am a writer not a mathematician and will leave the mathematics up to the theorists. But I know this, flapping wings sometimes do cause tidal waves- in this case, the flapping being the movement of tectonic plates, and tidal waves being the harbingers of tsunami.

Maybe it is fear that has persuaded millions of Americans to stick to home runs, touchdowns, basket assists, and the weather in their casual conversation. No matter how tough a society one makes, its people remind themselves that all they have come to represent can be washed away in one breath stroke of Nature. She has the upper hand with her element of surprise. Therefore it is always comforting to know that man has been able to read her motives, thereby always keeping an eye for her unpredictability.

Continue your weathered small talk…it keeps me informed.

Providing you humor is not my job; it’s Letterman’s. This is a message to remind myself how important the weather is. It is no laughing matter. It is not a strange tale of pink cows grazing on blue fields. It is not abstract. It is real- if that is hard to believe ask a survivor of the Saharan Tsunami. It was no laughing matter.