Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

A month ago, California hadn’t had a drop of rain in twenty-nine days.  It was the driest February since 1864.  Now it is “Miracle March,” and it seems to be raining every day.

I’m not complaining. We need snow to build up in the Sierras to provide lots of snow pack melt-off in the early summer to give us plenty of water to get though the dry summer and fall. Some years it starts raining again in September. But lately, it is more like late October or early November.

I am in Monterey County, the first time I’ve been able to spend a week down here.  Before the shelter-in-place mandate in California, there has always been some reason to pull me back to the Bay Area – appointments, rehearsals, and these past three years, my sister.

There is much to do here. I can write. I can read. I can do research now that I have bitten the bullet and paid to have internet here.

Yesterday, after cutting down a tree and getting my tennis shoes soaking wet from the rain the night before, and after reading and writing for hours, I was looking for a diversion to break up the day. Not being able to go anywhere and being here solo does make it a challenge.  Then I remembered the garage.

The garage is stuffed with blue Rubbermaid tubs filled with things that seemed important to keep ten years ago when I was moving out of the huge marriage house.  I have been slowly chipping away at those blue tubs and am proud to say that I have a dozen of them emptied. Most of them contained my extensive antique book collection.

Since the move from the big marriage house was a one-woman show, much of my children’s belongings were simply dumped into the tubs and transported here, with no time to sort anything.  I opened up tubs and found shoes and clothes from ten years ago, much of it too worn out or out of style to keep.

My son’s tubs contained magazines about gaming and stuffed animals he will never want again.  The Christmas tubs have ornaments made in China that need to go bye-bye.

I sorted for an hour until my back said to stop. There’s nothing like standing on cement to get the low back angry. I came inside in time to catch the evening news and to hear the statistics of Covid 19 as it sweeps across the country and paralyzes New York City.

It rained again last night. I’ve never slept here during heavy rain. The flat tarred roof is noisy in a rain storm. The drain pipes outside are on the headboard wall. Now I know why the previous owners had their bed across the room on the opposite wall.

The noise kept waking me up, the little rescue dog weirdo, too. I’ve owned this house solo since 2011 and with my ex since 2006. How can it be that I’ve never been here in the rain?

Oh, that’s right? Normal life. I was always too busy to spend time down here when the weather wasn’t going to be ideal.  I had places to go, things to do, people to see.

That’s all on hold for the foreseeable future. I wonder if it will rain again tonight.

We need the rain.  I’ll have to get some earplugs.

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