2.. Snow Birds

This story best read between November and May - preferably by someone currently living north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

_{It starts with the Winter Solstice, usually by the snow birds whose phone conversation begins with an innocuous "So, how's the weather up there?"   "What do you mean 'How's the weather?'  You left here 18 hours ago and drove through a blinding snow storm until you got to Virginia.  What do you think happened in the last twelve hours?"}  

_{People I rarely talk to when we live within five miles of each other take this opportunity to rekindle the relationship.}

_{You know it and so do they. It's a 'set-up' question so they can tell you they're sitting by the pool. Screw them and the twenty-year old Cadillac they drove down in.}

_{The nucleus for this is Miami, Florida.  Texans never call. People in Louisiana (even those who claim to be real close friends) never call. Your best friends who moved to South Carolina, never call, even when there is a foot of snow on your roof.  Real Floridians, those who have lived in the state for at least sixty continuous months without leaving - except maybe for the two weeks every year they fire up the RV for a trip to Oklahoma to visit the grandkids - they couldn't care less about you and what's happening outside their state, other than they can't wait for you Yankees to leave and to take your early-bird specials with you.}

_{There are several reasons for this sudden meteorologist interest.  The snowbirds need validation that the couple thousand dollars they plopped down for a few months in Belle Del Vista or Whispering Palms, or Sea View Pines or Plantation Isle II or Heaven's Waiting Room was worth the schlep.  Two day's travel, two days to unpack, one day to scout out the best dinner deals (since their best New York style diner closed) and bingo, they're ready for the sun - when it stops raining.  What do you mean ‘a little  rain?’ Two allegators drowned on what was your front lawn.  Sorry, the big one died after eating your golf cart.}

_{“And Murray, next year we’re gonna fly down.  I’m getting too old for this trip and with you needing to stop every half hour, I can’t take it no more.”}

_{Another option is that these callers are basically not very nice people to begin with. And here is a small person's big chance to get even with people they left behind who, in all other respects, really are better than them and who will be leaving tomorrow for a month on the Riviera.}

_{A third possibility is that these same people who while north of the Mason-Dixon line were able to carry on fairly intelligent conversations but two days on I-95 with all those semis, managed to suck out most conversation topics, limiting them to weather and where to go for dinner (which, being about two hours away, there really ain't much else to talk about - other than maybe Sylvia's hip surgery.)}

_{Storms forecast for the north and, bingo, the northbound emails increase tenfold. What better time to renew that friendship with your old high school buddy you haven’t spoken to in fifteen years than when you know he’s stuck someplace in New Jersey and the Miami Herald has forecast two feet of snow for New Jersey.}

_{We Northerners have our rare moments of fun watching on TV those east bound Floridians on Interstate 95. Yes, I know it’s a North-South road.  Did you ever see a Floridian drive on black ice or through one-quarter inch of snow?  I often wonder what’s going through their minds as they head toward that ditch or guard rail.}

_{Until, what I call the "Mercury Derby."  When the mercury in both the thermometer and the barometer both hover in the seventy range, and the sure winner seems to be the thermometer as it slowly edges up, everything is fine.  But, watch what happens in late June and July when that sleeping barometer wakes up on its inevitable humidity climb toward 100 and the finish line.  But, even then, the thermometer is on its way toward winning.}

_{It’s at this point that Murray and Sylvia begin packing for their migration north and the emails stop and so does this one.}

P.S. Here's some ammunition for Northerners: Orlando is the fourth most humid city in the United States averaging 74% humidity;  Tampa has the highest number of days in the year with thunderstorms; Jacksonville averages 89% peak humidity at 4:00 A.M.  All of a sudden three inches of snow becomes tolerable.