If the sky looks the least bit dark to the west, or to the north or south, there's only one thing to do: check Channel 74. The Weather Channel. Sure enough, there's a big patch of yellow, with some mean red inside. The shape changes slightly with each sweep of the radar.

I'm trying to remember life before Channel 74. We had little more to go on than a little "T-Storm Watch" notice in the upper left-hand corner of the TV. My, how vulnerable we were. That was a scary, scary world.

I remember, long ago, going for an extended bike ride when I spotted a huge thunderstorm coming from the west, with lots of lightning, between me and home. I was on the northeast side of Huntington, out on country roads. I pedaled furiously. The torrent struck just as I reached the outskirts of town. I could hardly see through my glasses. But I raced on back to my apartment, totally drenched.

If The Weather Channel had existed, I probably would never have left the apartment. I would have seen that patch of red surrounded by yellow surrounded by green and wisely avoided that little misadventure. Like a wussy. But I would also be searching for something to write about.

Channel 74 is surprisingly accurate. We can look at the screen and declare, "Yesiree, looks like it'll miss us by a couple of miles. Probably nail the Village of Coventry." The other night, we were supposed to get rain to finally cool down the place. I checked Channel 74 before going to bed. We were getting missed, but a long horizontal string of storms stretched across southern Michigan. I did not think to offer a prayer for the poor slobs living in its path. Of course, we got hit the next day. We watched it. On Channel 74.

Anyway, thank God and Mighty Doppler for Channel 74. Like so many things in our 21st Century lives, so replete with gadgets and services and ready information, it's one of those things we think we can't live without.