I don't know about the network newscasters in your area, but here in the Los Angeles market we're held hostage by reporters and weathermen who are, I believe, frustrated actors who never got that plum soap opera role that rocketed them to sitcom stardom. So they fill their soundbytes and teaser commercials with all sorts of hyperbole so that we're sure to watch the late night news lest we end up being swept into oblivion by Mother Nature.
That was the scenario once again on Saturday evening. We were given dramatic, dire predictions of doom and gloom. Being a vigilant (okay, neurotic) horseowner,I stockpiled stall bedding and feed. I played that undeniably fun game of "put the waterproof blankets on the horses/take the waterproof blankets off the horses." Then, in fear that Wally and Lexi would be sequestered in their pens for a couple of days while they endured the oncoming series of storms, I decided to exercise them both. I took Wally on a lengthy trail ride and left Lexi turned out all day so she could rip around the big paddock with glee.
I even cancelled plans to take my lesson kids to a schooling show on Sunday. I knew they were disappointed, because it was merely partly cloudy when I called them on Saturday night, but how could the weather reports be wrong?
Once I'd battened down the hatches, and Wally and Lexi were snug as bugs in rugs (waterproof rugs, mind you), I went to sleep, figuring when I awoke my horse property would be awash in runoff rainwater.
I don't want to give you the impression that it didn't rain. It did. But we did not get anywhere near the apocalyptic weather that was given top billing as part of Storm Watch: 2008.
Of course, you know what will happen. Next time the Giganto Doppler Deluxe Rain-o-Meter and its human counterpart, Thor Sterling, predict a deluge, I'll ignore them and blissfully continue with my regular schedule.
And then it'll pour.