Have you been inundated with Snow yet? No?

What happened to the ‘Arctic Blast’ that’s always supposed to arrive on our doorsteps each winter?

Some folks suggest that global warming is messing up traditional weather models, but I think it’s mostly just the hot air that seems to emanate from our TVs during weather forecasting segments. So I guess that asking how the weather isn’t might be more of a conversation ice-breaker.

Around this region, nearly anything could be happening outside your windows and doors at any particular time of year.

The saying, ‘If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes,’ seems to be perfectly suited to us, and while it’s true that the northwest interior is notoriously difficult for weather forecasting experts, if anyone else was wrong in regard to their jobs as much as they are they’d likely be looking for work.

We can be upset by the inconsistencies, or we can just shine it on the way my pal Crazy Bob does, when he blathers out part of this kid’s rhyme for me: ‘Whether the weather be cold…or whether the weather be hot…we’ll weather the weather, whatever the weather..whether we like it or not.’

Even my father-in-law, the Famous Russian is a better forecaster than the Renner/Marriot/Pool contingent, or that cute little guy that Mrs. Anthony likes on channel 13.

Those guys waffle around on the weather map, spouting obtuse meterological terms until we are so confused that we feel safer indoors.

The Famous Russian just says things like, “Cold air from north meets the moisture from ocean, we get snow, da!…Warm air from south?? Is no problem.. bring wadka, we have peek-nic!”

After 40 plus years of living in these elements, it is now my opinion that the local weatherpeople could learn a few things, even from me.

This morning, Mrs. Anthony asked me, “How cold is it outside, should I wear my heavy coat or is it going to rain?”

She’s watched the morning news as usual, she doesn’t trust the guy on 13, even though he’s cute.

So, as her personal weatherguy, I do my best, but I feel obligated to not rock the weatherboat too much. In my best weatherguy voice, I lie, “A warming trend that will begin to cool, partly cloudy with a chance of sun, or rain, or in the higher elevations, snow, or rain, with a chance of sun.” Oddly, this seems to satisfy her and she flits out the door with a sun hat, mittens and an umbrella.

We are lucky, though. We could live in a place like La Paz, Bolivia, where they have only one type of weather and only one weatherman, who I heard was a fellow named Juan Von Kleikamp, a transplant from southern Germany.

His forecast takes less than two seconds, “Sunny und hot,” from which he retires to his shaded weather veranda and a tall beverage.

On a more serious note, the National Weather Service is burdened with the task of making sure people aren’t hurt by what comes out of the sky.

From their website: ‘The core mission of the National Weather Service is the protection of life and property through its Watch and Warning program.’

Watch and Warning? This sounds more like just poking your head out the window and yelling if you see hailstones the size of walnuts. That’s ok with me, but maybe they should call this a Weather Post-cast instead.

That other TV would-be weather lothario that Mrs. Anthony warms up to, the well-tanned weatherhunk Jeff Renner, says on his website that ‘western Washington is considered one of the most difficult places to forecast weather for several reasons.

Most storms approach us from over the Pacific Ocean, where there are few weather observation stations. Our region's many mountains and hills also produce weather that differs a lot over short distances.’ Jeff, you didn’t get that tan from a booth did you?

I’ll bet he has a time-share in La Paz, where he hangs out with Von Kleikamp and tips back Bolivian B-52s.

In the largest sense of it all, we can scarcely know what God has planned; snow or sunshine, hail or sleet, rain or fog, so I suppose we shouldn’t be so hard on our local experts. It should still be ok to tease them from time to time though.

From now on, I’m just going to turn down the sound on my TV and fill in the audio myself, maybe by singing. I’ll start with the lyrics to this rather obscure little song by Paul Simon called, ‘Papa Hobo’,

Oh Papa Papa Hobo
Could you slip me a ride
Well, It's just after breakfast
I'm on the road
And the weatherman lied.