“Wait five minutes and it will change.” I’ve heard that kidding weather forecast since I was a child.

It’s true of more places than not. The only place I ever lived that didn’t change much was San Diego. Late spring through early fall, the San Diego Bay forecast could have been a recording: “Sunny morning, high 50s, 75 degrees midafternoon, light breeze, beautiful.” Every day. The same.

In winter, fog rolled in during the evening and burned off in the late morning. The afternoon forecast was “70s, light breeze, beautiful.” Every day. The same.

But who would want to live with that boring weather? Apparently, two million more people than when I lived there in the late 60s. Beautiful sunny skies every day? Low humidity? Light coastal breeze? Yes, it was perfect. But it was boring. The first time it rained, maybe three months after I moved there, it kept me awake.

We chose to leave because we really liked the seasons. I know. Who does that? When I told people we lived there and left, they looked at us like we had three heads.

So, we moved east and stayed. And there have been many muggy summers, many bitter winters, many muddy Aprils. But oh, when we get a spate of beautiful days, the way they have been recently, we treasure them. And of course, there are times that you pray for one of those gorgeous days – for that most important special occasion. Looking back, we definitely remember what the weather was like on those life-changing days, the days that memories are made.

When Tom and I got married on Cape Cod in April, it snowed so hard the day and night before, the authorities had to close the two canal bridges to the cape. The next day, the snow melted and the afternoon was lovely by the time the rice was thrown. Sunny and beautiful.

When our daughter, Alix, graduated from college, the outdoor ceremony was picture perfect. Champagne corks popped among the cheers, and the day was as bright as the sunshine smiles. Beautiful. And with a light breeze.

When my son, Bart, graduated from the Naval Academy, the weather was spectacular. It’s a full week chockablock of parades, picnics, air shows, boating, and family celebrations. Other than a brief shower one afternoon, Mother Nature shined her best as the midshipmen’s hats soared at graduation. The date was May 22. Sunny, beautiful, and with a light breeze.

Fast forward 10 years. Our Marine captain left his squadron after eight years, and attended two years of grad school. He would receive both degrees on the same date. We all know what a bear Washington, D.C. can be in the summer, but that May 22, it was sunny, beautiful and with a light breeze.

But something else was afoot.

My daughter, Alix, was expecting her second baby in May. The doctors had indicated the baby was going to be large. Alix and Ian chose not to learn the baby’s sex beforehand, so all we knew was we were awaiting Baby Fox – Big.

My mother and I had our hotel booked in Washington for Bart’s graduation. After we checked in, we learned that Alix had gone to the hospital. It was time. Oh no! I’m in Washington and she’s going to give birth in Boston? As it turns out, my grandson, who weighed just under eleven pounds, was born around 3 a.m. – on May 22.

That date has become a red-letter day in our family. For some strange reason, Alix is unable to remember what the weather was like. I am sure, however, that it wasn’t sunny, beautiful, and with a light breeze in the delivery room. Not at 3 a.m.

At the graduation reception, we told Bart about his new-born nephew. His kidding reaction has become part of the family’s folklore: “Wait, are you saying she is not here?” as he stretched looking over our heads into the crowd. “What’s wrong with her? She calls that an excuse? That kid was born at 3 a.m. – seven hours ago. She could easily have been on the 10 o’clock Boston/Washington shuttle.” We laughed heartily then, and still laugh today. I’m not sure he has ever let her forget it.

Malcolm, who arrived on the scene that day, and his Uncle Bart, willingly share the honors on May 22.

And for some reason, May 22 is always a spectacular day – bright and sunny. With beautiful memories. And a light breeze. As it should be.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com