I don’t know if it’s my British ancestry or my highly flammable ginger complexion, or perhaps, according to my husband Doo, my cold and dead soul, but I am digging the fact that rainy weather has returned.
There’s just something about a dreary day. I love when Mother Nature gives me permission to sit on my comfy couch and ignore dumb yard work and even dumber exercising. I love when I am basically forced to turn on the fireplace. I love when I feel no compulsion whatsoever to literally do anything productive except microwave leftover Stouffer’s mac-n-cheese and sip hot tea. I especially love when I can legitimately go to bed at 6 p.m. because glorious nightfall has arrived early (thank you, DST!) and that I can sleep under the heavy comforter because temperatures might dip below freezing! Fingers crossed!
I don’t even care that a semi-monsoon means that our arthritic Lab Libby will be tracking mud and wet leaves through the house nonstop. After the first few times of Annie-style, hard-knock-life scrubbing, I’ll simply make peace with the filthy floors and train my eyes upward. Nope, there’ll be no worries here. I’ll be enjoying the beautiful gift of a miserable afternoon and Googling properties for sale in Seattle (from my couch!).
Don’t get me wrong. I definitely can’t handle months on end of no warmth or sunshine. Usually by March I’m ready to auction off our twins and the aforementioned dog to buy an airline ticket anywhere south. But a good old-fashioned, rainy fall day every once in a while? Well, that’s right up my Irish, redheaded, soulless alley.
Peace out.
