San Antonio averages 300 days of sunshine a year. Last Friday wasn’t one of them. The white patch in the chair is ice. My patio is somewhere under the lake. The scene begs for cliché. When
hail hell freezes over. When all hail hell breaks loose. Or to paraphrase Steinbeck, “I’ve lived in good climate, it bores the hail hell out of me. I like weather rather than climate.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve disagreed with Steinbeck.