Rain and More Rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain.
I hate Laundry Day. I could not hate it more even if it meant walking down to the dirty nasty river and banging my sheets against a rock.
Actually, that sounds kind of fun.
The Madre is due to arrive (albeit an hour late) this evening for a weekend of ladies' fun! I'm hoping it won't rain all weekend.
Reading the Tiffany Aching series of Discworld novels. I love the Nac Mac Feegles as much as I hate laundry. Also, these ones remind me of good things because Springy grew up near the Chalk and we met in Glasgow.
In the Glasgow we had a washer but no dryer - we had a large rack on a system of pulleys suspended over the kitchen table to dry the clothes. The warm air rose from the kitchen and the wet trousers drip drip dripped on the table and the windows steamed over. Outside the window was a huge fir tree where damp little birds hid from the rain. When the sun came out their invisible chorus would resound between the tenement buildings, a hundred birds sounding like a thousand.
The rain is different here. In Glasgow it started and stopped in shudders all day, fine little sponging sprays that teased and flashed about. American raindrops are fat and bold, they plop and stay put for a while, or lash against the window screens.
Rain rain rain rain rain.
If I didn't have the laundry to haul upstairs I would like to take a long long walk and get as wet as I could get. If only it weren't so cold.
One day in high school, one fine spring showers day, I left school and went for a long long walk and got as wet as I could get, and smelled the damp new leaves and splashed in the fresh gutter streams and sang to myself all afternoon. When the clouds parted and the sun began to suck up the puddles I changed my shirt and got a cup of coffee and walked all the way home. That was a good good day. I was wearing the hat of this boy and it smelled like his shampoo and then the hat and my head got wet and my head smelled like his shampoo.
I hope we will have a proper spring this year. I don't mind the rain so much if it's not cold, and if I don't have to spend all day inside with wet ankles. Wet ankles are the worst.
I need more coffee.
I hate Laundry Day. I could not hate it more even if it meant walking down to the dirty nasty river and banging my sheets against a rock.
Actually, that sounds kind of fun.
The Madre is due to arrive (albeit an hour late) this evening for a weekend of ladies' fun! I'm hoping it won't rain all weekend.
Reading the Tiffany Aching series of Discworld novels. I love the Nac Mac Feegles as much as I hate laundry. Also, these ones remind me of good things because Springy grew up near the Chalk and we met in Glasgow.
In the Glasgow we had a washer but no dryer - we had a large rack on a system of pulleys suspended over the kitchen table to dry the clothes. The warm air rose from the kitchen and the wet trousers drip drip dripped on the table and the windows steamed over. Outside the window was a huge fir tree where damp little birds hid from the rain. When the sun came out their invisible chorus would resound between the tenement buildings, a hundred birds sounding like a thousand.
The rain is different here. In Glasgow it started and stopped in shudders all day, fine little sponging sprays that teased and flashed about. American raindrops are fat and bold, they plop and stay put for a while, or lash against the window screens.
Rain rain rain rain rain.
If I didn't have the laundry to haul upstairs I would like to take a long long walk and get as wet as I could get. If only it weren't so cold.
One day in high school, one fine spring showers day, I left school and went for a long long walk and got as wet as I could get, and smelled the damp new leaves and splashed in the fresh gutter streams and sang to myself all afternoon. When the clouds parted and the sun began to suck up the puddles I changed my shirt and got a cup of coffee and walked all the way home. That was a good good day. I was wearing the hat of this boy and it smelled like his shampoo and then the hat and my head got wet and my head smelled like his shampoo.
I hope we will have a proper spring this year. I don't mind the rain so much if it's not cold, and if I don't have to spend all day inside with wet ankles. Wet ankles are the worst.
I need more coffee.
posted by Joolya at
2:28 PM
1 Comments:
Enjoy the Tiffany Aching stories. I'm a long time fan of Pratchett. The stories about the Chalk are wonderful, they don't talk down to kids, and make me want to laugh and cry.
BTW, the creepiest kids book ever is Neil Gaiman's "Coraline". I gave it to my granddaughter and enjoyed most favored grandfaggot status for weeks.
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