Alright, Iowa. Last month, I waxed poetic about why I love living here even when we are in Mother Nature's death grip. And that opinion remains unchanged, but my patience is wearing thin.
I'm not mad at Iowa. After all, it's not Iowa's fault it's so northern and flat and prone to taking a serious El Nino beating. So, Iowa, as a state, your weather-related crimes are expunged.
I don't want to get too catty about Mother Nature or that damn Nino, either, though. They've both smacked us all with their wrath before, so my strategy is just to keep my head down and plow along. No fight-picking here, no ma'am.
I suppose I could get all ticked at the poor TV weatherpeople, but I feel bad enough for them. And I just can't be mad at anyone who shares a profession with Al Roker.
So, stripped of scapegoats, I've been going the optimistic route. That was all fine and dandy the first 65 days we had 12+ inches of snow on the ground, but I'm plum tuckered out.
I am a Winter Grump. And I will be until we get a 70 degree, sunny Saturday. Let the record show, I tried really hard this year.