Weather of Mass Destruction

(~5 minutes to read)

If GWB was still president, and given recent events, I’m sure he would have been asking his advisers what all the fuss was about a turkey coop in Europe.

But apropos my topic for this piece, I’m equally sure he would have had his military folks taking a close interest in southern Alberta right now.

You see, we’ve got oil and WMD here.

That’s Weather of Mass Destruction. It’s been here since June 28th—and so far it’s showing very few signs of going away any time soon. On June 28th, a hailstorm combined with up to 100km/hr winds shredded our back yard, wrecked the siding on two sides of our house, ripped shingles from our four-year-old roof, and parts of the beautiful cedar fence I built last year look like they’re acne-scarred. Since June 28th, we’ve had several torrential rainstorms, thunder and lightning every day (admittedly, some days featured just the occasional rumble), and more high winds.

And as I write, we’ve got a weather advisory for funnel clouds and a high flow advisory for our local river.

No matter what the cause, weather patterns are changing. Maybe they’re always changing, but I guess a person would have to live for several hundred years or more to form their own opinion on the subject.

If I look at weather patterns here compared with when we moved to Canada in 1994, I see a big difference. Weather events seem more extreme; more violent. (I won’t try to extend my argument by assessing weather patterns in England in the thirty-nine years I lived there—trying to remember now what those weather patterns were like would be like trying to remember how healthy my diet was back then—my assessment would be confused by my assessment criteria back then compared with now, by wishful thinking, and by old-timers’ memory soup.)

But back to southern Alberta and the WMD.

The pattern has got so protracted and tiresome that I’ve been thinking that some kind of divine retribution is being meted out. I’ve also thought about the possible need for divine intervention. Problem is, I have no idea which weather god I should worship, thank, appease, beg, or sacrifice to.

My first thought was Zeus. He’s the sky and thunder god, and also happens to be the king of the gods in the ancient Greek religion. Sounds like a pretty influential guy—a good mix of power and portfolio. Thing is, I don’t know if southern Alberta is part of his territory. And even if it is, how would I address the problem with him—a rousing rendition of “Hail to the Chief” perhaps?

Next I thought of Thor, the Norse god whose department deals with thunder, lightning, storms, and oak trees. He also protects mankind. But I don’t have any oak trees in my yard, and in any case the original storm happened on a Tuesday, so Thor would probably just redirect me to the second window along from his. Given that Tiw is the god of single combat, I assume I wouldn’t get help there either (because then it wouldn’t be single combat). In any case, I’m not alone in wanting to fight this weather off.

So much for the Norse pantheon.

What about the ancient Roman faith system? Jupiter is the go-to god here; he and Zeus hold the same position in their respective pecking orders. But apparently he’s partial to a sacrificed castrated white bull, and I’m not sure that the local feedlot would co-operate, even if they had one.

And to be honest, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of a Roman god helping out. I mean, what have the Romans done for us?

According to Wikipedia (yep, I had to consult something to learn what my other options are!), there are many other weather gods to choose from. There are K’awaiil and Cocijo, Maya and Zapotec gods of lightning respectively, so at least they’re operating on the same continent. There’s Ehacati, the Aztec god of wind; not totally relevant to the current topic, but who might have been worthy of mention in my piece about a flatulent Swedish footballer.

There are Egyptian, Maori, and Hindu weather gods, and apparently even one god out of the Caribbean who, apart from being god of thunder and lightning, is also responsible for rallying the other storm gods. Guatauva is his name, and given his portfolio and rallying responsibility, sounds like the kind of god to have inside my tent peeing out rather than outside my tent peeing in. However, I wasn’t able to discover how to attract his attention in a positive way, and gods being the touchy deities that they are, I don’t want to risk offence by offering a male kookaburra as sacrifice when a female kookaburra was the correct protocol. So discretion being the better part of valour (or so they say), I’ll pass.

In fact, this whole appealing to deities thing might be a risky business in general, so I think I’ll give it a miss.

But back to southern Alberta and the WMD.

As far as I know, WMD, and hail in particular, are universally hated. That hatred crosses all boundaries—race, religion, ethnicity, gender—so I feel safe in calling for its proscription, although, knowing my luck, there’s some PC loony out there that will argue for the rights of poor defenceless hailstones. Let’s face it, car dealerships hate hail, farmers hate hail, homeowners hate hail, greenhouse owners hate hail; everybody hates hail. Hail doesn’t have a leg to stand on, neither anatomically nor ethically. It can’t afford a decent lawyer, and legal aid will get it nowhere, so its proscription should be a slam-dunk (which by coincidence is the sound hail makes when it hits your car’s bodywork.)

It should therefore be possible to universally agree that WMD should be banned. So let’s petition the UN for a resolution that will lead to the proscription, confiscation and dismantling of Weather of Mass Destruction.

Although—if GWB was still president, I’m sure he would have felt entitled to get the job done without all those tiresome civilized formalities.

All in all, I’m glad GWB isn’t still POTUS. There’s no way I want US troops stomping all over my back yard destroying my… wait—didn’t the WMD already do that?