My Inspiring Forecast

It’s Thursday morning and a beautiful weekend is forecast for the East Coast. Julee is stuck at our apartment in the city working on a new music project. Millie and I figure our best move is to pack the Jeep real quick and take off for the mountains. We’ll just be in Julee’s way.

One problem: The weather’s not so great. In fact this evening, when Millie and I plan to escape, it’s going to be raining hard all the way to midnight.

“Go first thing tomorrow morning,” Julee says. “The rain will have blown through by then. Besides, Millie hates storms. All dogs do.”

Have I ever mentioned that sometimes I am accused of being stubborn? And impatient? Me? I can only imagine that you would find that hard to believe, no matter how many people say it. I have no idea why anyone would call me stubborn and impatient.

Nevertheless, I have absolutely no intention of taking Julee’s advice. I want to get moving as soon as I get home from work tonight, rain or no rain.

“Jules, I want to wake up in the country tomorrow. I don’t want to have to wake up and drive to the country. It’s a waste of half a day. A little rain isn’t going to be a problem.”

“You’re not leaving tonight. They’re calling for thunderstorms, maybe an inch of rain.”

“Nonsense. They hype everything. They’re just trying to make everyone hysterical. And it’s obviously working.”

Julee follows me to the door as I start off to work. “If it’s raining when you get home tonight,” she says, “I’m hiding the car keys where you will never find them. Don’t even bother to look!”

All afternoon I pray for these gray skies that shroud Manhattan to stay closed until after I hit the road. “Rain all you want,” I mutter, “but only after I hit the West Side Highway.”

Around 3 it starts as a tiny little patter against my office window 21 floors above East 34th Street. Soon the patter becomes a paradiddle. This is not the sort of rain that lets up easy and I know it.

“God, you’ll protect me and Millie on the road tonight, won’t you? Isn’t that your job?”

Instantly I feel as silly as my prayer. Sometimes, I sheepishly realize as a crack of thunder rolls across the Manhattan skyline, God uses a cautious spouse to do the job, even if I am too stubborn to admit it. Maybe, I think, maybe I can listen to Julee and wait.

I send her a text: Wherever u hide those keys make sure I can find them in the morning.