Story time with cousin Donnie.
I’ve had the misfortune of canceling winter exceedingly few times in my life. The first was January 2015. Living in DC and watching you all cash in on consecutive weekends while we missed out tore my winter weenie soul from my body. I knew then that my differences with winter were irreconcilable, and I divorced myself from having any faith in it.
It worked. I started The Panic Room and glorious years of soulless winter observation occurred.
I came back home in 2018—just in time for this historic stretch of horrific winter wx and held to my arm’s length treatment of winter tracking.
But over time, the lies winter whispered in my ear became more sophisticated. The pattern looked extraordinary. The Atlantic would save us. The Pacific would save us. Our latitude would. It was always ten days away and never to be, but the lies in animations were so appealing I began to have hope again.
Until December 2022. The epic pattern that folks tracked for nearly a month led to an all time event in Buffalo, and rain here. I knew then it was time to pull the plug, and I did.
This time it was the cold that seduced me. If we just had cold in place, I was told, eventually something would happen. There was snow on Christmas Eve. Ponds and rivers freezing. Hope in the air. It breathed life into my winter weenie soul once again, only to have the inevitable happen. Another disastrous winter.
In order to know the true depth of despair, one must first have hope.
I made that mistake believing in winter 2024-25. Never again.
Rather than crap up threads, I’m just going to go away.