Rainy Days and Mondays

I am not generally a rainy day person; this is probably evident in most of my blog posts and I'm sure you've guessed it by now.  I would probably not make it through a winter -- or any other season -- in Seattle.  I am happiest when the sun is shining, regardless of whether it's hot or cold outside, even though I do have a kick-ass pair of black-and-hot-pink striped rain wellies and faux-fur-lined Kamiks for chillier wet days. But I'm changing, a little.

When we lived in the Valley, on "the grid," I used to dread rainy days... the bewildered rushing water in the suburban gutters, the puddles in the cracks of the asphalt, the pool flooding, the precarious way that we Angelenos drive in the rain.  I could never find a working umbrella -- I am somewhat known for throwing broken ones back into the umbrella bucket in the garage when the sun comes out and then scrambling to fix the sharp spokes when the next rainstorm hits -- and my kids have never owned rain jackets.  Even during that crazy El Nino year when my oldest girls were in preschool and we had to practically wade through a flood to get out of the car for two weeks, I didn't get the hang of living in the rain.  I hate being wet.  I hate the dark, cloudy days.  I hate the perpetual Monday morning feeling of rain.


Until now, that is.  This morning, I had to take the dog on a walk.  He drank a ton of water before bed last night and wouldn't go outside when Raf opened the door... and I figured a wet morning wouldn't kill me.  Quite the contrary.  It was quiet and smelled fresh and clean outside.  Gibby and I quickly got the hang of the weather -- he's a Lab, after all -- and I was surprised by how much I loved the sound of the rain dropping from leaf to leaf above us in the trees that we passed.  27 minutes later, we were home and I had to send my apologies to the late great Karen Carpenter.  Rainy days no longer get me down.


Now, I'll turn my attention to Mondays.