Winter is relatively awesome here

Everything is relative. That's what I always say.

Sure it's no Albert Einstein's theory of relativity that my "Dictionary of Theories" explains as: "In non-inertial (accelerated) systems, certain fictitious forces make their appearance while also having a connection with the forces due to gravity, where the acceleration produced is independent of the mass." (I swear I didn't make that up.)

Pam Burke

But, really who all is smart enough to imagine something like that. I'm no Einstein, but that explanation sounds like it could be the cause of a catastrophic disruption in the space-time continuum ... or directions to a secret space port on the Mothership.

I need simple statements to explain the goings-on around me and help me maintain balance in a world spun wild.

This is how my user-friendly theory of relativity works:

A toddler falls and skins his knee — nothing serious — it'll be healed up within the week, but he cries and cries like this is the worst walking tragedy ever in the history of upright-walking mankind. Of course there's sobbing and tears like an open water spigot because the toddler hasn't been walking very long — he didn't know it could come to bloodshed. It is the worst thing, ever, relative to his experience.

Consider, though, the humble rodeo bull rider, who frequently gets launched like a lawn dart into the dirt then ground into the earth by the half-ton bull tap dancing down his body. A bull rider trips and gets a boo-boo on his knee, and it doesn't even register in his conscious brain as a real occurrence. It's all relative.

Here's another example:

If I won $1,000, I'd be all "WoooHooo! Par-tay! I have covered my hay purchase for the entire winter!!" Happy dancing would ensue. Some upper-middle class investment dude wins a thousand dollars, and he thinks he has a cool story to tell his golf buddies and drinks are on him. Forbes Fortune 500 multi-billionaire wins a thousand bucks, and she has enough to pay for a classic hair-do at an upscale salon, maybe enough left over to tip the pedicurist.

Everything is relative.

So when an EF-5 tornado drops down on a community in Oklahoma it's bad, like bad bad.

Using my theory of relativity, one can put it into perspective by realizing that it's not like the Yellowstone volcanic super-caldera blew, wiping out a good portion of the American West and spewing enough volcanic ash into the atmosphere to alter global ecology for the next few hundred-thousand years — give or take a few years.

Yes, even a one-mile-wide tornado is relative.

But I look at the widespread devastation, the loss of life and the untold grief — and the fact that these people don't care one way or another right now about volcanoes, super-sized or regular — and I think about my worst weather fears and realize, OK, Montana winter isn't so bad.

And this is what's more important, relatively speaking.

I know winter is coming. I know it'll be bad. I have ways to prepare myself, my home, my vehicles and my livestock for it. And, again, I know it's coming — that bears repeating.

Tornado season is the time when I make peace with harsh winters.

Even February? A friend asked.

Yes, even my old nemesis February.

And if I write a column about how awful winter is next year, feel free to write me and say "Quit your whining. It ain't a tornado."