I’m
going to say up front I can’t believe I’m giving this a shot.
It
combines a couple of subjects—if not more—I have attempted before
on multiple occasions. It wanders a bit. Doesn’t have a definitive
conclusion. And it all began while making some toast for breakfast
today.
You
have been warned.
When
I was growing up, we made regular trips to the grocery store.
Our purchases were placed into paper bags, which in turn were
brought home and then used to cover our school books. We had a
box in the backyard for the milk delivery. A glass bottle, return
the empty, milk delivery. I walked places more often, used my
bicycle more often, and rode around in a car less.
Our
air conditioning involved screen doors. Personalized, high-end
air conditioning involved distracting the sisters long enough
to steal the portable box fan, bring it to my room, and place
it in the window.
The
point is, I never really noticed much of a difference in the weather.
It was either comfortable enough to put in the screens and open
the doors to let in the fresh air or it wasn’t.
Today,
temperatures, I notice.
We
have a central air system in our house. Most of the year, the
weather is going to be well above or well below our target range
of comfort, so the windows are closed. We like having them open.
Enjoy fresh air. But we truly do watch the weather and understand
what’s going on when letting in the breezes from the great outdoors.
What
I don’t understand is butter.
Or,
more specifically, why it does or doesn’t get soft when being
left out.
If
the temperature inside the house is a constant, why does the butter
react differently? Is it the amount of daylight? Are there unseen
pockets of heat over the kitchen island? I have to be missing
something.
But,
am I?
Yesterday
morning I made some toast. Brought it directly from the toaster
and had a knife in one hand before the other hand had placed it
on a plate. Butter was soft. Spread it on the toast. And, it didn’t
fully melt.
This
was hot toast. Not a wasted second, hot toast. And the soft butter
didn’t completely melt.
Outside
in my yard, there are plants all over the place. Seasonal annuals
and perennials, in boxes and planters and flower beds and against
fences and more. During the summer, I grab hoses and water cans,
then make my rounds. The differences can be stunning to see.
Hanging
plants may get longer runs of direct sunlight. Flower beds may
hold the water better. You can place the same flowers in different
places, and the amount of water they need to remain fresh and
perky differs.
I
get that. It makes sense.
The
butter on my toast not melting does not make sense. And I have
this weird thought, previously unacknowledged but steadily growing,
that wonders if global warming is to blame.
We
probably should pause with that idea for a moment. Step off the
path, present a tangent thought of equal strangeness and associated
themes, then step back. Ready?
Have
you seen the reports that one reaction from nature to global warming
will be periods of intense cold?
True.
Sounds
wrong. But true.
Idea
is that global warming brings changes to weather patterns. Wind
and rain and more changing and adjusting and disrupting. Do something
like disrupt a polar vortex and suddenly temperatures drop.
That’s
really simplified. But it makes sense, right? Action, reaction.
Back
to the butter.
It
probably still seems strange that I would even vaguely associate
the butter on my knife in the morning with a sad polar bear. I
see your point on that one. But nature is often funny, unpredictable
and strange, even with all of its recognizable patterns and activities.
Have
you ever seen a supercooled bottle of water? It can be below freezing
by temperature and yet still a liquid. Then some type of shock
hits it and water instantly turns to ice. Amazing to witness.
Honestly seems to make no sense at all.
And
that’s where I’m headed with the butter. Global warming means
increased cold, nature provides frozen liquids that transform
to solid with a smack, butter on my toast doesn’t melt.
That
makes sense.