“It’s Paris. You don’t come here for the weather.” — Adrian Leeds
When our family comes down to our Florida home, I begin stalking weather.com as soon as the arrival date comes into range on the ten day forecast. No matter that a forecast for rain chances or a daily high temp ten days out is not even remotely an accurate indication of what that day will bring, I still check. If it forecasts sunny and 78 degrees, I cheer. If it forecasts a blustery 55 and thunderstorms, I groan.
The maddening thing about long range weather forecasting is its ridiculous inaccuracies. Why do they even bother? And a better question, why do I look? Each day, the forecast flips around, tantalizes me with perfect sunshine, taunts me with downpours, sucks me in with balmy breezes. Then arrival day arrives, and it is nothing like the predictions I’ve been glued to for the past week and a half. Still, I check daily.
I also take personal responsibility for insuring that the weather during a family visit is pleasant. When the grandkids are stuck in the house watching videos on an Ipad all day while torrents of rain splash down outside, I am guilt-ridden. How could this happen on one of their precious vacation days? When everyone is huddled at the beach under a blankets, blowing sand stinging their eyes, I offer my mea culpas. When my sisters have squandered a precious day off and money for an airline ticket, only to face blustery winds and the need to buy a new sweatshirt, the onus is on me to promise that, as Annie says, “The sun’ll come out tomorrow.”
Last November, my kids, their spouses, and the four grandkids showed up for a week of sunshine and seventies. They got some of both, so it went pretty well. The sunbathing was less than ideal, but we didn’t get rained on during our pontoon ride, an annual crowd-pleaser. Sisters’ weekend has had a checkered history. One year, two of my cousins from Boston joined my youngest sister and me and were treated to highs in the low fifties. Yeah, better than a Bostonian blizzard, but this put the kibosh on al fresco dining, hanging out at the beach, lounging poolside. I was mortified.
Now, for Paris. Here is the first forecast for our arrival day.
We picked September, figuring the weather should be generally pleasant. I don’t anticipate sweltering heat or bone-chilling cold. Will it rain? Bien sur! But nothing is going to dampen our enthusiasm. If we’re forced to sit under a canopy drinking wine while rain drenches the street, we can buck up and order a second glass. C’est la vie!