Blattery rainy weather lately. I keep thinking about the character in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish where Rob the lorry driver has kept a personal journal demonstrating that it NEVER stops raining. Never. In the book, of course, the omniscient narrator informs us this is because Rob McKenna is, in fact, a rain god, so the clouds just follow him everywhere to cherish him, be with him, and water him. Rob eventually turns this into a lucrative career, receiving payment for staying away from important outdoor events; or conversely, going where crops need to be watered.
I, however, just get bucketed every morning as I walk from house to car, clutching my mug of coffee for warmth and a gradual, timed dosing of liquid awareness. The last two mornings I've been splashed by coffee as herking raindrops plunk into the cup and displace coffee onto me. Never fear, it was not wasted.
The morning commute under such circumstances is watchful and focused. On rainy days, the 167 freeway from 7:15 - 7:45 a.m. assumes the color of the sky above it -ranging from rain-shiny slate grey to rain-shiny grey blue. The only distinguishing features are the red of the taillights, the glare of the headlights on the water, or the occasional reflector on the road. I can hardly see the lines painted on the road on days like today. A little standing water here and there helps my massage therapist have something to exclaim about when I visit. Toss in a passing semi-truck or two with the resulting washout over my car hood and I'm a mass of shoulder and neck knots.
Please note that I have no massage therapist. With all the muscle tension going on, I'm tired by the end of the commute on rainy days. It's sketchy enough on dry days; exponentially worse when the weather behaves like Western Washington's does.
I am grateful to arrive home, intact, and mostly dry after sitting in a warm car. I have faith the sun will shine again soon.
Once Rob McKenna goes away.
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
4 months ago
4 comments:
You don't have a personal massage therapist? Chuh, what kind of star blogger are you? I have two one for my shoulders and one for my feet.
The Pennines* are the gods of the rain. Just try living here. Although the rain gods have left their freezer door open and so it's been snowing.
Big heap hills in NW England.
'Big heap hills in NW England' is not a random statement, but should have been connected to an asterisk, thus making sense of 'Pennines*'.
Are you channeling some Indian speak today? You are also "Big Heap Laundry" on facebook! :)
I have heard of the Pennines. Probably in conjunction with James Herriot's books.
Aye lass, he were a reet fine Yorkie.
I'm not sure where the Indian speak came from...perhaps because I watched some awful programme where some woman was trying to prove that her dog could sense ghosts by standing next to a pile of stones, which she insisted was an ancient Native American grave.
Post a Comment