I don’t like the weather here. The atmosphere in the Bay
Area bores me. There’s the most
pretentious weather statement ever said. I look up at the sky and wish the clearness
would be blotted out. I want clouds, rain, wind, snow, lightning, and all the
elements commanding my attention. Many people believe the weather in this area
is perfect. But it’s not my perfect.
I remember the frigid, grey months of Chicago. I hated the cold,
and yet I loved it for the benefits. Snow days were a right in the north for
withstanding the chill every winter. You deal with the freeze and get sporadically
rewarded with a day free from school. We’d build snowmen, leap from the roof into
the snow piles below, and erect snow forts. Of course, snow forts commonly led
to snow ball fights where one last man stood victor. DA KING O’ THA NORF!
My Southern and Californian friends ask me how I can
tolerate the cold. Strangely, something that influenced me was “The Legend of
Zelda.” When it grew so cold I felt like cooping
myself inside, I thought of Link’s adventures to the likes of the Ice Cavern
and Snowhead. That poor kid is wearing a tunic, belt, boots--that likely aren’t
snow-resistant--and the determination to not give a shit about the elements. He
shivers and sneezes like me, but he doesn’t complain about it. So as weird as
it sounds, Link is my inspiration to grin and bear it. Perhaps there simply wasn’t enough time to make alternate weather costumes
in a Nintendo 64 game.
When I was younger, I enjoyed watching The Weather Channel.
My favorite segment was the top of the hour version of "Local on the 8s" because they played an extended music
track--a track so good that I choreographed dances to it. Friends would come
over to visit, and I excitedly performed my sweet stormin' moves. But they
never came back... I’m not sure if it was because of my interpretive weather
dancing, but my grandma always said I should be a “weather girl.” You may know the
profession as meteorologist. To this day, Grandma wishes I pursued a career in tracking
storms from the safety of a newsroom. When the weather segment comes on she
says, "Katie, that should be you up there making it rain." Well, she
said it in a more grandmotherly way. Truth is, she’s not very punny. That joke is unforgivable… Yes, let’s
commit to it together since you got this far.
After living in Illinois most my life, I moved to North
Carolina after college and experienced weather novelty. North Carolina had
similar seasons, although not nearly as extreme as Chicago’s range. The first
deviation from the norm came in the form of a hurricane named Humberto. Based
on the news I remembered about hurricanes, I braced myself for a super storm…and
I received a few days of somber drizzles. Turns out hurricanes lose momentum
the further they travel across land and up the Atlantic. With no desire to migrate
further south to test the power of hurricanes, I continued to explore North
Carolina for a few more years.
For those that haven’t ventured south of the Mason-Dixon
Line, North Carolina is a hot state with humid summers. I learned my lesson
when I sat on the black leather seat of my car. It had baked in 110 degree heat
during the workday and gave me a sizzling surprise down yonder since I was
wearing a skirt. Thereafter, I kept a bun-protecting blanket in my car after burning
my cheeks to the first-degree. This wasn’t
the first time I burnt my ass on something. The first butt-burn was
second-degree level—and a story for another day…
Another interesting facet of North Carolina’s weather
spectrum is the statewide reaction to snow. Winters are brief, and yet temperatures
can dip below freezing on occasion. During my first December in North Carolina,
I experienced a traditional Southern apocalypse that was marked by nearly three
inches of snow on a Saturday evening. Three inches of snow in the north is
considered a dusting, but in North Carolina it’s like that game where the floor
is lava. In this case, the whole world is lava and don’t leave your house
because God just poured freezing kryptonite onto the Earth. My friends planned
to come to my place that night, and they presumed the shindig was off since
they can’t (wouldn’t) drive in the snow. I won’t let a li’l frost dampen my
hootenanny. I hit the road, and boy, if three inches of snow would always clear
a path for me, I’d strap an industrial snow machine to myself. To further prove
the state’s inability to handle snow, snow days were announced for Monday,
Tuesday, and Wednesday at school. Because of this, I believe the state only deploys
one snow truck to clean the roads.
After leaving North Carolina in 2010, I lived in New York
for a year. I can report that the weather there is fine. Until it gets real hot
on garbage day and the city smells like a Fish Egg McMuffin. Not lovin’ that, Manhattan.
Anyway, I’m more of a hot cakes and sausage fan. Fill my city with the scent of
cheap carbs and meats.
For a few years, I returned to Illinois. The most notable
weather event was in 2014. The news reported air so cold that you would be in
danger of frost-bite if you were outside longer than 5-10 minutes. My employer
at the time not so gently suggested that we should be in the office regardless
of the air being characterized as deadly. I figured if I’m going to risk life
and limb getting to work, I may as well equip myself properly. I donned the onesie
a friend convinced me to buy. I suppose it was its destiny: to protect me from
the chilly weather in public. That said, I was wearing multiple other layers
for my trek to the office. But the big reveal, oh, it was glorious. I consider
myself quite the fashionista, and this was downright tacky; I showed up to work
in head-to-toe white fleece dotted with cat heads. I’m not even a cat-person—I’m
a principle person.
Soon a new opportunity beckoned to me, and I ripped off my
onesie to travel to the west coast. I found myself in Redwood
City, California. I visited Los Angeles and Irvine before and did like the
beach weather, but I soon realized how different Northern California was from
its Southern counterpart. Before I moved, I bought a pair of periwinkle rain
boots and anticipated their debut at the next rainfall. After a few months of
sun, I asked a colleague if it ever rained. She said it rarely did, and when it
rained, it was during the winter months, maybe a handful of times. Now, I’m not
about to revive my childhood rain-dancing, but I quite like the sound and smell
of rain. It’s also a soothing sleep aide. It’s also a nice temporary cleaner
for my car. Why did I get a white car? I
don’t care what anyone says—white is the worst car color to keep clean. I found myself missing the
pitter-patter, the clean smell, the umbrella-less people racing to their
destination while squealing.
Speaking of things that fall from the sky, you can forget
snow in the Bay Area. The winter season is marked by Christmas lights hanging
from palm trees and homeless camps. Your snow fix can be satisfied by Tahoe, but how
often can you make a 5-hour journey just to reset your cold, bitter heart? Also, not sure when I’ll be invited up to my friend’s cabin after I brought
Jameson to a sophisticated whiskey party. I’ll
go take shots for everyone in the corner…
It’s been almost two and a half years since moving here. Of
all the places I lived, the Bay Area is my least favorite. There are other,
more significant factors that come into play besides weather, but ultimately I
learned that you should love the place you live. Besides your home and office,
the world that surrounds you should do so in a way that completes the package.
I thought about what my perfect living situation would be:
- A beach-side cabana house overlooking the ocean with a canopy bed and floor-to-ceiling windows that give me the idea of nature. Bugs eat me up like I’m the Kobe beef of people.
- A secluded cabin on the mountain with a hot tub and drone food delivery service.
- A hot-air balloon to soar the skies and land wherever I need to go. I like the idea of me expanding real estate into the skies.
· I want my family and friends with me; they’re
all scattered across the states, though. If I could, I would squeeze them all
into a regional bubble. I suppose I have friends in many places because I’ve
never put roots down anywhere. Maybe that means I haven’t found MY home yet.
This talk of weather turned me a bit sentimental. Weather is
one of the many things that make me feel at home. The Bay Area cannot give that
to me. Perhaps if the area felt like home in other ways, I wouldn’t focus so
much on what it can’t give me and focus on what it does give me. I’ve made some
great friends, but there’s something missing, and I don’t think I will find it
here under another mild sky. My sky is cold and hot. It’s dry and rainy. It’s
still and moving. It’s calm and chaos. But until I find myself under that sky
again, I should find peace with the one I have.
