Predictions

Let's celebrate the beautiful forecast fails.

Dear Beautiful Friends,

I

Today we were told to expect clouds, rain, and cold. Yes, there were clouds, the temperatures were frisky, and there was a flash of hail. But also, plenty of sun! Hours of dryness. Enough to take two walks and go on a late afternoon run with my neighbor. The songbirds chirped up a happy storm. Not a bad week so far; surprisingly good!

II

On our first day at Whistler, my ski spouse, Kristin, and I were braced for a short day. There were high wind alerts; the mountain was gobbled up in thick clouds, the gunk coming out of the sky was a throttling peck of precipitation, the kind that stings your face. In short, the forecast was ominous, and I was pep-talking myself to be brave, no whining.

INSTEAD: No high winds. Flat light for two warm-up runs, then POOF! Out came the sun. Perfect visibility, beautiful views, and the surprise of all surprises for this low-snow season of seasons: great snow.

III

Twelve years ago, when my mom was 81, she was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. The doctors assured us the cancer would return, she’d have 5 - 7 years, and would never see her nineties.

This woman is seeing her nineties! With heaps of curiosity and enthusiasm. She’s ninety-three.

IV

When my visiting granddaughter Dyllan wanted to take a sourdough class, I was psyched to share a fun activity with her. Except it was her fun activity. I don’t bake. No cookies, no pies, certainly no bread—wheat messes with me. When everyone went sourdough-wild during covid, I wasn’t even interested enough to judge. (I was too busy eating candy.) But I love Dyllan. And so off we went. Half an hour in this science class, my head was spinning (what the hell was discard and why were we talking about it first?) I was tallying up everyone I knew who might want the starter I’d be taking home with me.

This was no prediction or forecast necessary because there was only one truth: I would NOT BE MAKING SOURDOUGH BREAD EVER.

Almost two months later, this is happening:

Stupidly proud.

And making crackers from the discard.

CRACKERS—from MY oven!

Little did I know what was coming when this selfie was taken, in class.

V

When I started writing my book almost eight years ago, I never thought I’d be finishing what feels like the most final version this week. I also didn’t see it changing genres, and how much I’d enjoy the challenge of learning about writing non-fiction and fiction in the process of working on one manuscript. Surprise!

Predictions, forecasts—they are just that. Best guesses, even if based in science. That’s why I’m obsessed with my Weather app. My local weather forecasts remind me how much humans’ best, most scientific future forecasting will never be able to predict exactly what’s going to happen. Scary, perhaps. I also find this comforting and hopeful.

XO