I’ve always loved the rain—probably mostly because I live in a city that gets so little of it. Southern California has been exceptionally dry for a long time. Many of us (Catch and I included) have allowed our front lawns to wither away to brown stubble because a) water is crazy expensive now, and b) there are better things to do with our precious water supply.
Someday (after we replace our roof), Catch and I will have the front yard re-landscaped with drought tolerant things that are prettier than dead grass, but in the meantime, we have become “those people” who mow their weedy lawn stubble on the weekends.
Having said that, we’ve actually had a highly unusual amount of rainfall recently. The rainy days are all running together at this point. Charlotte’s rain coat has taken up permanent residence by the front door, and her shoes are on a rotation schedule so that they have a chance to dry in between outings. (Because silly me thought rain boots would be mostly just for cute’s sake and therefore a total waste of money—color me wrong. Honestly, I felt the same way about rain coats, which is why I jumped for joy when her grandparents gave her one for Christmas!)
So we’re getting rain. Lots of it. And it’s wonderful because we need it so badly. It’s also wreaking a bit of havoc because when bone dry earth becomes over saturated, you end up with falling trees and mudslides and other lovely things. Also, no one in this city knows how to drive in the rain. Truly. Our local news turns to “Storm Watch” apocalypse-style coverage when there is a quarter inch predicted. We do not know how to do rain here.
Back to my point, though—I really do love the rain. Which is why it caught me a bit off guard today when I realized that I’m starting to feel sort of down for lack of a better word. I don’t really want the gray to go away, but it’s also kind of messing with my head a bit. They’re predicting sunshine this weekend, and I think it’ll probably be good for me. Especially since we’re painting the yellow cave this weekend. (I’m complaining about grey skies and missing sunshine, and yet we are painting our yellow room grey…)
And I realize that half of you are up in Canada and another third of you are in the northeast thinking that I had better shut my mouth about the Los Angeles version of “weather.” I apologize. We have a guest room—come visit. It’s yellow, too. Maybe you’ll like it more than I do.