This actually makes me laugh because it was the rhyme we sang as children. If it rained, you had indoor recess. You could play in snow and when it was snowing, but not rain. Still, I liked rain then and generally loved it as an adult.
That came to a screeching halt this week. Now it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting my other issues onto the rain; however, after a good week-and-a-half of storm followed by storm, I need a break. California rain is not “good rain.” “Good rain” comes in the spring and summer. It’s one of those showers that occurs on a warm afternoon, with the sun shining, and feels like the best shower you’ve ever had.
California rain is not even “Please let it rain-rain”. “Please let it rain-rain” is the rain you beg for when it’s hot like Hell, the humidity is 95% and you’re soaked from walking to the car. It’s the rain that relieves you from the awful heat and sponge-like air of a summer day in the Midwest. For a while after a “Please let it rain-rain” the air is fresh, the temperature has lowered 20 degrees, and you feel like you can do anything outside. It’s a tease, of course, because it’s false hope.
California rain isn’t even “Spring rain.” You know, those rains that wash away what’s left of the winter snow, washing away the dinginess of the season and ushering in the greens, reds, pinks, yellows, purples, and oranges of spring flowers. Honey, there really aren’t spring flowers here. No fields of tulips, daffodils, irises, crocuses, and other spring bulbs come to life.
No, California rain, because it’s our winter precipitation, is like the worst of “Autumnal Rain.” It’s the cold, damp, dark, relentless storms of hard, biting rain that chills you to the core, soaks your clothes, and makes you wish for indoor endeavors like movies and popcorn.
Generally, I still liked it because rain means a lot to me. I come from a place where there is precipitation year-round. I am used to having water — and the occasional flood. I love to see green hills more than anything (something that will end come June here, when fire season starts). To me rain means water in the ground tables, snow pack, the luscious green of the hills, and an assurance that there won’t be rationing or a drought.
Yet, for all my love of rain. This week it was too much. Perhaps it really is the rainy-day recess. However, I think it’s more that I’m ready for sandals and a long walk where I can suddenly remember that I’m not a “sunshine” girl. Perhaps it’s that I merely need a break.