“Bundle up, it’s gonna be a cold one on Saturday!”

My parents obsess about the weather. They may call me for some other reason, but at some point one of them will volunteer the weather report. It’s not based on wisdom collected from decades of observing nature. No, this is simply the weatherman’s predictions for tomorrow, and the day after and the rest of the week.

“It’s gonna be cold until Wednesday, then it’ll snow and warm up into the low 30s.”  I ask why they’re so preoccupied and they tell me its just good to know. I wonder if that weather report doesn’t represent a point of stability, something they can always count on to plan their routines by – the dog walks, the meal planning and grocery shopping, the doctor’s visits and stretches of time in front of the TV, reading a newspaper, or generally puttering about the house.

The weather is tangible. It’s something they can touch and feel now that they’re largely past decisions about their careers or marriage or family. Their flight had its rocky takeoff, its frequent turbulences, and times when no one seemed to piloting the plane at all. But that was then. Now it’s all about trying to keep the final approach smooth and relatively steady.

… I wish they had done more with their lives.