Waiting for the rainbow

Wow. I’d like to find someone to blame for exhibiting extreme hubris, hence tempting the gods to bring on our ongoing, extremely wet smack-down.
My first thought is to look suspiciously at realtors and chamber of commerce members who have been known to make calls back east when it is miserable there and temperate here.
Truth be told, I know we all contributed at some point. Who among us hasn’t had a smug moment of shirtsleeves in December as the rest of the world struggled with snow, rain and real winter weather? Don’t deny it. We try to be gracious but being the envy of your friends is just one of life’s naughtiest but most delicious vices.
And so we got a solid taste of what much of the country east of Las Vegas faces on an annual basis. The big difference is that they are usually equipped to deal with it. Their homes were built with roofs that are sealed for it, they install storm windows, and they learned the lore of driving in it at their Daddy’s knee.
With the week between creating and printing my column, we may well have managed a couple of dry days. However, weather forecasts have me braced and ready for a lot more precipitation, with a capital P, which you know rhymes with T and that stands for Trouble. I’ve renamed my backyard River City.
After two weeks of solid rain, you start to notice some odd things. My first surprise was that it turned me into a mole person. When the rain stopped, even though still thoroughly overcast, I found myself wincing and grabbing for my sunglasses. If the sun actually comes out, I’ll have to find a sunhat and dig out those dark, weird glasses they give you when you visit the ophthalmologist. Or maybe just crawl back into bed. That option always has appeal for me.
The next oddity I spotted was a gorgeous crop of moss growing in a parking lot. I park in this same spot weekly and it generally sports dirt. I have a heavy suspicion that the in-your-
home mold-removers may become the tycoons of tomorrow. Then I noticed my car started to smell like my old high school gym locker.
While I still mourn the loss of our dogs mid-October, I was able to drum up some small joy at the absence of muddy paw prints. As our backyard fills up during every rainstorm, I didn’t miss trying to get the golden retriever out of the puddles and back into the house, while simultaneously trying to convince the pointer to even risk getting her feet wet.
Being Southern California shod, I used to just suffer damp feet for a few days. This year, at the 10-day mark, I broke down and bought some serious boots. I feel a bit like Frankenstein when I walk in them, but they do keep my tootsies nice and dry.
I marvel that the rest of the country isn’t more cranky in the winter/spring. Wet weather is getting on my last nerve, no doubt about it.
I am happy for the snowboarders. I am happy for the water table. I am happy for the ducks. I am happy for my plants. My hairdo and I, however, are both feeling droopy.
Hang in there, North County, and keep your powder dry.