Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing,
wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating;
there is really no such thing as bad weather,
only different kinds of good weather.
I love the weather. I like the unpredictability of waking each day not knowing what the atmosphere has planned. It amused me, when I was a news reporter, how seriously everyone takes the weather. I recall being on assignment during the beginning of the war - before Baghdad was taken and Saddam fell - and being redirected from a soldier's family gathering to the shoulder of a rush-hour freeway. Why? It was hailing. And hail affects more people. And people would change the channel if we weren't talking about rain and hail during rush hour.
But I still like the weather.
It's been raining here for days and days. In Texas, we call that answered prayer. Come July, nearly every church marquee you pass says, simply: "Pray for rain". And we do. When wells dry up and city folks start getting brown, grainy water out of the faucet, we join hands and bow heads and ask God to break open the heavens and pour out His wet blessings. And He does. Maybe not right then, but He does.
This is the view out the front door of Freeman House this morning. Dark. Damp. Beautiful. I wish the yard boys could come. It's looking like Little House on the Prairie out there. Hmm. Over that fence, old Mr. Lumpkin's (God rest his soul) grape vines are doing well. Soon the birds will be dropping their grape bombs on our cars and roofs.
I had a half-dozen things I wanted to show you today. A new spring platter from our town's tiny pottery studio. The hand-stamped genius of my friend Lisa. A (made-me-cry) friendship garden and flower package I got in the mail this week from Sue. (Sue, you are a precious, precious woman. Thank you!) But, alas, it's so dim in this old house that the pictures don't do anything justice. Plus, they require a stronger prescription to actually see anything. So I'll make my "look what I got" presentation another day, I suppose.
In the meantime, I'm going to pour another cup of coffee, settle into my cushy chair, and finish up the handwork on a new apron. Oh, and listen to the "refreshing" rain fall. I'm going to memorize that pat-pat-pitterpat-pat rhythm of the rain bouncing off the roof.
Come summer, I'll be praying for it.