I''ve got a deep secret few
people understand and even fewer will admit
to sharing. It''s time to tell the truth: I
love the rain, deeply and
passionately and more than the sun. At least I live in the right place,
famous for its damp weather and spawning its own genuine rainforest. I
can''t imagine living anywhere else than the Pacific Northwest. The sun
shines so infrequently that my
friends forget where they put their
sunglasses. Gloomy clouds cause many
people around here to suffer from
seasonal affective disorder. Yet I welcome the rain.
Seattleites will say they like how rain keeps the city green, how clean
the air tastes afterwards. My real reason for enjoying the rain is
steeped in pure selfishness when it''s mucky outside, I don''t have to do
anything. I can spend the afternoon curled up reading, build a fire and
make a big pot of spiced tea. I can sleep in late, waking up
occasionally to hear soothing patter on the roof, water racing down the
gutter. Nobody expects me to leave my house or do anything overly
productive. Maybe I''ll invite a few friends over to watch an old movie
or play a board game. Friends'' expectations are low and easy to meet.