I am here to tell you two things. One is shorter and it requires that you click a link (so please do). The other is longer. Here we go.
Let us not kid ourselves.
You want a good book to read and gift, and that book is The Daring Book For Girls. So you should go read my review of it at Zen Sarcasm Reviews to know more about it. Especially because there is much handmade goodness in there and we all now know how I’m all for handmade goodness.
Ok. I’m done with that.
The other thing I needed to tell you about? I love the rain.
I grew up in a place where it rains about 180 out of 365 days of the year. That is quite literally half the year’s worth of rain, so I guess something must snap inside a person after so much rain-soaked being and so many days of seeing it come down and sideways and upside down and, to quote Forrest Gump, "rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even
seemed to come straight up from underneath."
So I like the rain. I don’t mind driving in most kinds of rain. I don’t really mind walking in it, either –maybe at some point in time I did, but not anymore (partly because I have some shockingly-unstylish-yet-ironically-stylish wellies that keep me warm and let me skip across puddles).
In Hawaii, where rain seems to come out of nowhere, unannounced and like a thief in the night –even in the middle of the day– you have to get used to the rain but somehow cannot. Or at least most of the locals cannot, and there are all manner of silly fender-benders on every rainy day.
But the rain also means a break in the mosquitoes and a day of not having to worry about keeping the windows open –even for a little while. The rain means a cool and calm day, and what could be better than breaking out the sweaters when it hits 70?
Over here in the mainland, the rain seems to irritate most people. But woe to us all if people don’t have enough water to lawn their delicate lawns or have their water glasses filled to oblivion as they sit there, gathering condensation, right?
Today’s rain was wonderful; crisp, cleansing and cold, and very reminiscent of cold páramo (subpáramo?) rain.
Herr Meow’s little rain boots –even though they are on the big side for his feet (note to self: shoes labeled with S, M or L are not reliable sizewise even if they claim they’ll fit two year old feet)– kept him dry and allowed him to jump on the puddles and smile gleefully every time a little splish-splash was heard.
Sometimes that’s all you need.