It's a little damp here today
It's really pouring -- 1/2" deep rivers flowing down the fire truck access ramps by our building, splashing up over my shoes, cleaning the spiderwebs from roof drains that are usually just moistened by the gentle mist that normally passes for rain here. And it's warm, too, nearly 70°F (20°C).
It's almost a tropical rain, reminding me of storms in Hawai‘i -- like the one that trapped my former girlfriend in Hawai‘i Kai one winter break. She saw me off at the airport, drove home, and it rained something like 24 inches in the next 12 hours. She called me the next day, very grumpy. "I'm fucking trapped in the corner of the island." I of course had returned to the Eugene Mist and wasn't terribly sympathetic.
Those of you familiar with my opinion on the Eugene Mist and other northwestern weather phenomena (this is the only part of the country where "occasional sun breaks" are a regular feature of the weather forecast) will probably be surprised to hear that I really love hard rain like this. Partly it's because the weather is actually doing something instead of just dithering ineffectually like a whiny city council member.
The other reason I like this weather is because it's tied to an important moment in my emotional growth -- the moment I realized that my mother is a human being, not just The Mom.
It was when we were living in China, probably 1981 or so -- I was 10 or 11. We were spending a few days at Beidaihe, a resort town on the coast. It was stormy, and I was grouchy and annoyed because I wanted to go outside but I was sure that Mom wouldn't want us to go out and get all wet and muddy.
She surprised me, though, actually suggesting that we go for a walk on the beach. "But, uh... we'll get wet... are you sure?"
"Yeah! I've always loved to walk outside when it's stormy."
My young mind was blown wide open. Moms like to do messy things? They enjoy weather?
I never saw her quite the same way after that.