I think the reason we're so darned interested in the weather has less to do with our plans and personal comfort than it does our inability to notice the passing of time. If the weather never changed we would seem to be living the same day over and over, though we age rapidly.
When I was young I thought it funny, and to be honest more than just slightly annoying, that the older people in my life told the same stories time and again. My dad did that. His dad, too. And it seemed to me the older people got the more often they retold a dwindling number of their personal adventures. Now I find myself doing it and often apologizing to my kids as a disclaimer. "I may have already told you this," I'll say, but then I'll go ahead and tell it again anyway.
We mark the passing of our lives by changes in the weather and by how fast the kids grow up.
People come and go.
Sixty, seventy, eighty years. Life sounds long but lives fast. And if we've done it right we are vastly wiser and happier for all the great lessons we've absorbed, the good with the bad; the monumental and the insignificant. They add up to an existence we can rest assured was meaningful. The world would be a bit less joyful if you or I had never passed this way.
Oddly, though, as miraculous as we are we wind up retelling stories.
We only have a handful of memories.