Spring exit

Growing up in Boise, rain was exciting. We didn't get it nearly as much as we do in Spokane (or so it seems to me). I have such vivid memories of sitting on the cement with my best friend Laura, watching the drops soak in around us and singing "It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring." Poor old man. He was missing out on a weather event!

At school, the rain didn't often deter our recess unless it was hailing or something, and it was always fun to be out with my see-through umbrella that had a Mickey Mouse pattern on it.

I especially loved rain in the summer, and those times I could float around in the pool while big drops hit the water. Who cares if you get wet? You're already wet.

I still love the smell: mulchy and sweet; the lamp light that warms up the room in the daytime; the hopelessly optimistic rainy-day music it inspires me to think of (besides the aforementioned "Old Man" song) - "Singin' in the Rain," or my favorite, Shirley Temple's "I Love to Walk in the Rain."

It rained for almost two days straight this past week, and I couldn't help but think of old Shirley again (R.I.P.) and feeling "wonderful when the skies above are thunderful." (Here's the clip. Sweet, if a little racially uncomfortable, as was typical of these old musicals.) I wouldn't say that my love of rain is nearly as strong as it was when I was a kid, or if you could even call it a love of rain. In fact, I usually moan about it because it is often followed by dry, gray days around here. But in weeks like this one, when the forecast shows a solidly upward trend toward sun and warm weather by the weekend, I can certainly appreciate the free watering of my garden.

By Wednesday evening, the sun had returned.

 Luna's not really a huge fan of the rain. She needs vitamin D, too. Also: your eyes are not playing tricks on you - there is indeed a fanny pack in the picture. He totally rocks it, too.

I love these furry catalpa leaves.

(Another reason these old neighborhoods are the best: the street names are etched into the sidewalks.)

The eve of summer happens to be about the time Joel and I commemorate the first time we went out as a *couple* instead of just pals, and shortly thereafter launched just about the funnest summer anyone could have. It's time to bring on another. My summer journal begins on Saturday.