Final Harvest
“It’s coming!!” cried the forecast. “Within the week — it’s coming!”
F-R-O-S-T
“But it hardly seems possible,” I sigh. “It was eighty-one degrees today.”
“Look lady, I don’t make the weather — I just tell you about it. If you have complaints, you’re going to have to take them up a few levels.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining, just musing, mulling, and thinking about the ducks I must get in a row.”
“Lady, I’m just a forecast. I don’t know anything about ducks and rows.”
“You see, I like to cut off any blooming flowers that still look fresh, before F-R-O-S-T works its destructive powers. I like to snip the last hurrah of blooming brightness to grace counter and table tops — the pedestal sink in the powder room. I’ve always wondered why they call it that! Hold on……..”
“Hey Alexa — Why is the bathroom called a powder room?”
Her answer? Not a surprise.
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Forecast — are you wondering who Alexa is?”
“Not really.”
“She was a corporate gift. She does always know if the Packers won or lost, so that’s something. Oh, and she can act as a speaker when I play Pandora — that’s nice. Can you keep a secret? Don’t tell her — I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I could totally live without her.”
“Hey forecast — you still there?”
“Yes, if I recall, you were wondering about something.”
“Powder rooms. I was wondering why our small first floor bathroom is called a powder room. A few key strokes and Yahoo! tells me the term powder room originated because it was improper to imply ladies actually had to use a toilet back in the early 1900s. It was totally cool to talk about them powdering their faces though.”
“Great. Where are you going with this?”
“Hmmm…I’m not sure. I’m not sure. I’m not sure. Now I sound like Alexa.”
“Can you please close the weather app? I’m done here.”
