In the past two days, Boston has received more rain than I recall seeing in any one place, with the exception of Boston two weeks ago. It has been pouring buckets upon buckets here. Transportation in the city being what it is, with the least sign of inclement weather slowing the bus lines down by at least fifty percent, I have been spending a lot of time hanging out with people and their umbrellas. Not being talented enough to juggle my bag, my umbrella, and something to read, I’ve whiled away the hours noticing some interesting trends in umbrella usage that seem to have developed somewhere along the line.
Given that the exchange rate of words to pictures is so favorable to pictures, I’ve decided to break my habit of blathering on for an eternity and instead present you with a rare original comic of my own. Enjoy!
On the unlikely chance that you’re among the small number of my readers who are not in New England, it’s worth mentioning that the past three days had been starting to give John and I doubts that the world would not end in rain. Three days of torrential rain and vicious wind—and I do mean vicious. Have you ever noticed that the wind this time of year is nothing short of spiteful? I swear, it deliberately changes directions just to blow in my face and blind me. If I holler at it, it might stop for a minute…just long enough to catch it’s breath to mock me with a gustier gale. Seriously, I could put up with the rain it it weren’t for the wind.
But we had wind, and it had it in for us on Sunday. We were backed into a corner by our pantry. One more day of macaroni and cheese was just not an acceptable option, so we had to brave the weather and the late Sunday afternoon parking to buy groceries. We had a nice big umbrella, so it would have been fine if the rain was only falling down. Which it would have been, if not for the wind.
Let’s just say it was a generally disheartening experience that was worsened by the fact that we got to the building with the groceries only to have John realized that he wasn’t sure he had turned his lights off. Worse still, we had to park on a meter, and it was still pouring at 7:30 the next morning when we had to move the car—giving me yet another good reason to be thankful for my loving, self-sacrificing husband who did not ask me to get out of our warm cozy bed to keep him company while he fought for a non-metered daytime spot.
Needless today, when we woke up this morning to see a hint of real, honest-to-goodness sunshine kissing the top of the building, we were thrilled. Thrilled enough to voluntarily leave our bunker of an apartment to meander up to buy a birthday present for one of my darling sisters at one of the world’s most wonderful stores. There is nothing in the world compared to walking out into a cloudless spring day after three long days and nights of relentless rain pounding in your ears. It’s as good as jumping into a cool lake on a hot day, or curling up with a cup of hot chocolate during a snowstorm.
Especially when the walk is set to the soundtrack of a man on a bike with a bucket, rhythmically forming his own one-man, mobile percussion section.
Have I mentioned that I like spring?