Though it has only been a few weeks since I wrote about the region's unseasonable warmth, in spite of global warming, the cold has finally arrived. Walking the dogs yesterday, we had to bundle up. I had on my evergreen-colored fleece jacket, Mrs. Anthony was wearing her bright red one.

On my head, my straw fedora with the feather, and Mrs. A with the dazzling smile, we looked perhaps like a walking Christmas tree, her being the ornament on my side. There was snow on the edges of the trail, left over from 'the big dump' and the dogs sniffed at it excitedly, the way they sniff at nearly everything.

Chatting about nothing in particular, Mrs. A told me about how, when the news came on the radio at her workplace that a snow storm was coming, her co-workers rushed to the window whenever one or the other thought they had seen a single flake fall. It is rather odd how people in our area have a tendency to get excited at the prospect of something as ordinary as an annual weather event. If you live in Alaska or Siberia, the weather event to get excited about is more likely to be sunshine. But down here in Rainville, if Komo TV's Rick VanCise' cheeks get a little rosy, there is a sudden scarcity of Duraflame logs at the 7-11 down the street.

This isn't a bad thing.We can use a little harmless excitement now and again. And fortunately, when the blizzard does arrive, it never seems to foul up the roads or shut down the Mall for very long. There have been exceptions. The ice storm of '96 ( I sound like a real old-timer now), was a doozy. But for the most part we average only a fairy dusting a couple of times a year, and yet we still clamor for bags of rock salt, hot cocoa flies off the shelves at Trader Joes and people like Q13's M.J. McDermott nearly bubble over when a WINTER BLAST threatens to blow down from the Fraser River Valley.

According to the National Weather Service, the average annual snowfall for the Puget Sound region is about ten inches, but because Federal Way and much of the Western Washington interior is close to water, the temperature rarely makes significant accumulations something to worry about here.

That, however, does not stop our fear and wonderment. Last week, as we drove home past the Les Schwab store at Kitt's Corner, the line of cars was nearly into the street as people queued up to have their snow tires put on for the season. In the old days, we used to just throw a few bags of sand in the trunk and then hit the road. Also back in the day (we're talking the seventies now) we used to get a couple of feet of snow every winter. But our weather patterns don't seem to include much of the white stuff anymore. So why do we still get excited? Is it primal, or are we just bored?

I blame it on the media and our vaunted meterologists, of course. Because after the "storm" strikes, reporters drive all over the county telling us that the roads are dangerous and that people should stay home unless it's an emergency. Then, for days after the storm, there is always the week in review and stories about the poor souls who were without power for a whole day and whose poor, deprived children could not use their X-boxes or Playstations.

Wappler's Doppler is one of the scariest. Channel 7 has what they call the 'Pinpoint Stormwatch Severe Weather Alert.' Sounds bad doesn't it? A simple forecast isn't useful anymore. The weather heads have to create forecasts with dangerous overtones to keep us on our best behavior. It's Weather Terror, in it's way.

So when I channel-surf through the morning news before I go out the door, I'm looking only for the temperature, because that's usually enough. If I want an in depth analysis, I call Mrs. Anthony's Dad, the Famous Russian.

"Scotttt!" he commands in his best slavic baritone, "If you want to know what the weather is....stick your head out the window."

Good advice indeed, Papa.