It’s been raining all weekend, a fact that in other places and times might have set me to whinging just a bit. But we live in San Diego now, and don’t begrudge the sky a bit of weeping every now and again. It doesn’t happen all that much.
Every day of rain reminds a man of every other one he’s ever seen, and if you come from the east, there are so very many to remember. For reasons beyond the scope of this text I was discontent and out of sorts yesterday, so I ran down to the beach at Torrey Pines and watched the storm-lashed breakers come in under a fine, soft mist that was almost objectionable, but managed to stay just this side of the line. Sat in the steaming car afterwards, listening to melancholy music and thinking about all of it, and my place in it and in time my heart was soothed. It’s hard to watch the waves come in, as they have since the land and seas were parted, and not know your own troubles to be meaningless, ephemeral and transitory.
The sea is patient, it wears you down.
Came home again after. There’s something infinitely comforting about being inside when the weather outside turns rough, something grateful. A log in the fire, a good book and a cup of tea and a man can feel like the king of the world in a log cabin, so long as the wet doesn’t get through.
Last night was twelfth night, so the tree will come down soon. Tomorrow, probably. Church this morning for the first Sunday in Epiphany. There is a rhythm to these things, something that thrums in your heart at an inexpressible level. Each one connected to the last, to the next. The Hobbit scrawled 20*C*M*B*08 above the lintel in chalk because that sort of thing appeals to her. There’s no harm in it.
Watched the director’s cut of Donnie Darko with the Kat and wondered – not for the first time – whether there was more there than met the eye or a very great deal less. After that it was a Belgian beer and home-made nachos as the Chargers won, even though LT had only an indifferent day. I have lived here long enough now to care about that apparently. After 20+ years as a rolling stone, it sneaks up on you gradually, this sense of being from a place.
Supper’s on the boil and I sit by the dishwasher, of all places. Writing a post about nothing and everything as the machine hums and steams alongside me. And the rain keeps falling.
I’ve had worse and will again, I reckon.
Sufficient to the day.
Yes, there is something about the rain. I hadn’t really thought about how part of that “something” for those of us who grew up on the East Coast and now occupy drier climes is the emotional ghosts of days gone by; it’s always just been a kind of vague cloud for me.
It’s been so gray and damp for two days, now… has an affect on one. In wet climates it’s just like any other day. But here it is something almost unknown, and I suppose in order to make sense of it we (un)consciously recall similar days that have left their mark on our souls…
Blech! Hopefully the sun will return soon and we can collectively shake off what dogs us on days like this. Could be worse… the Chargers won!
Eh, not sure anything I wrote above contributed a bit to the conversation here. I blame my feeble powers of expression on the rain.
Those thus still eastern, with mercury rising today, did such, one day anon, Dutch being the beer, tho’ nachos the same. Alas, those ‘Skins of mine heart were not so worthy. Sense of place, even so many years removed, makes one cheer now for spotted cats.
One day I will move inland, more to the mountains where my soul feels compelled. Until then, I am more seaside and on the worst days, there is nothing like taking my chair and a book to the beach and just sitting there reading and watching and listening. I do that in the winter. Its my winter habit.
As for the Epiphany Chalk, that is fascinating! I love that!
We started undecorating today. We start on the Epiphany. It’ll take us a better part of a week to get it all down.
There’s been a lot written on seasonal affective disorder and the need for occasional sunlight…
I wonder if there’s an opposite kind of need for a good bout of inclement weather every now and then, to let the fog or rain or snow reconnect us with another part of ourselves, and make the sunshine more meaningful when it returns.
Ah yes, harth and home. It’s been snowing for three days straight here in Afghanistan… no fireplace in sight. Thanks for the post. Reminds me that there is a world to come home to. Something about the way wood smoke and the smell of rain and hot chocolate with a touch of Schnopps blend together to make everlasting memories.
I am finding the inclement weather to be soothing to my soul at the moment. Living in “Paradise” is wonderful but for the fact that there really are no seasons. I find that I miss being cold. I miss dreary.
I miss seasons.
Yes, we get rain in “Paradise” but it is usually short-lived and warm. Hard to find the motivation to throw a log on the fire (not to mention the fact that we lack a fireplace) , grab a cuppa tea, and curl up with a good book. These things I find necessary in order to maintain an even keel in life.
During my time here, I’ve managed to soak up plenty of that. And I am grateful.
And ready to go home. Though, as a “rolling stone” of sorts, “home” is currently with me in the form of MacGyver and the kids.
My parents hate snow, so they retired to Florida. Me, I love it: listening to the quiet as it falls, the hushed sounds after, the beauty of the landscape. And it’s a lot of fun to play in.
Rain, not so much. Although, I’ll tell you: whether the relatively constant Seattle overcast or just a passing front, taking off and then getting above the weather and into the sun, that just makes my whole day. I also like swimming in the rain, maybe because I don’t mind the drops when I’m wet.
The cure for anything is saltwater: sweat, tears, or the sea.
Who tells a finer tale than any of us. Silence does.
Isak of the broken levy
Rain? What rain? All I know is that 49 people fell off there bicycles here in Seattle last year… and DROWNED.
One good thing about rain: you don’t have to shovel it! Another rule: Nobody, but NOBODY uses an umbrella here! (Except people from California.)
Hey, Flatlander… we have chapters of “People Against SAD here!
Epiphany chalking: still alive and well. We live SE of Stuttgart (Deutschland that is) and a group of youths (more than two utes) came a caroling last weekend. With a few Euro in the cup for the less fortunate, they graced our front door frame with the aforementioned blessing. A nice thing to be reminded of every time I return to hearth and home: we’re truly blessed.
For the record, Lex, this is why I stop in here. Thanks. You may find a kindred spirit in this entry from the journal of Henry David Thoreau:
Oct. 12, 1851. I love very well this cloudy
afternoon, so sober and favorable to reflection,
after so many bright ones. What if the clouds
shut out the heavens, provided they concentrate
my thoughts and make a more celestial heaven
below ! I hear the crickets plainer. I wander
less in my thoughts, am less dissipated, am aware
how shallow was the current of my thoughts
before. Deep streams are dark, as if there
were a cloud in their sky; shallow ones are
bright and sparkling, reflecting the sun from
their bottoms. The very wind on my cheek
seems more fraught with meaning.
Thanks for that, Doc. I had not known it, and now I do.
To warm the cockles of your heart, let this contrary native Californian convey a most hearty
“Wecome to California! now go home”.
Friggin’ Easterners think this is an old Folger’s coffee commercial.
Being in the northeast, we especially have to resolve ourselves to a changing weather landscape, sometimes hourly. It was quite cold one day last week – and by Wed this week it will be close to 60. By the weekend, back to the 30s and 40s.
Having grown up here, I confess I like the snow as well – for the reasons so beautifully stated by Bruce Jones in his comment above. There is a peacefulness to a new snowfall that nothing else can equal.
That said, when I need to heal my heart, soul, mind – individually or in any combination – I head to the coast. Sit on the beach and do as Lex described so eloquently. Let it all wash over you and remind you that in the scheme of the world – the problems of the moment will be memories soon enough. There really is something so restorative about watching and listening to the surf.
It’s one of the things I love about New England the most – as frustrating as our weather can be, I still think it’s the most beautiful place on earth.
Whinging? You mean wanking! Get under a sunlamp or hop a jet to Mazatlan..
Enjoy the wx for the change and revel in it. Go duck hunting. catch a grunion!
Single seat VFR pilots..geez Louise.
b2
Re the pull of the ocean…I recall some points made on a cable program (a Discovery/National Geographic type ) about the human condition that has always stayed with me.
Scientific evidence strongly suggests that we have evolved from the ocean. The passage of millennia has not completely erased this memory which survives, to this day, in the deepest reaches of the brain… returning to the ocean is a comming home of sorts… and explains our desire to do it… not consciously recgonized but sub-consciously felt… additionally our blood , highly saline in nature ( called it our internal ocean) and the amniotic fluid a fetus developes in are the most obvious present indicators of our watery past…kind of new age…but it works for me. Best
OMG, Snake Eater has drunk the Kool-Aid. Best refer him to the local chapter of People Against SAD.
(Peter, I first assumed you were joking. Then I realized you were in California.)
PS, It’s 60 in Chicago today, nah-nah-nah-nah.
Being miles upon miles upon miles from the nearest body of salt water, I have to say “Yeah…I miss it.” A day at the beach is more than umbrellas and sand…it’s also booming surf and lashing wind as the storm moves in. I spent more than a few such days perched on a rock at the beach while living in Oregon, and even on the Great Lakes, which have spectacular storms, too.
There is nothing comparable in New Mexico. But, hey! One can get it vicariously, just by clicking through and reading here.
Thanks for this, Lex.
Flatlander…or is it really Flat- Earther? Alas …It seems to me that you’ve already gone over the edge… a belated … bye … bye. Best
PS, Please… I’m a Scotch drinker you addled Pecker-Wood.
Your explanation makes sense. I understand the brain fluids of primitive ocean creatures were once composed of a mixture remarkably similar to bad Scotch.
There’s no such thing as bad Scotch…Best