Last night we woke up in the wee hours to hear a roaring downpour outside, and were greeted this morning by a gray, cloudy, wet dawn. My windshield wipers were in shock as I drove to my Pilates class — they haven’t been used in many months. And of course it’s time to replace them. I’m accustomed to having to replace wiper blades every year, but back in Oregon it was because they just plain wore out from endless hours of scraping back and forth across the windshield. In southern Portugal it’s because they quietly rot in the UV radiation, courtesy of endless months of sunshine.
On the way to my class, there’s a spot where I frequently pull over and get out of the car to enjoy the peaceful landscape and delicious smells. This morning the scents were extra delicious, with the moist soil and all of the happy, hydrated plants releasing what I think of as Pleasure Molecules into the air. Then I got back into my car and listened to a British morning radio show. The DJ complained about the rain and flipped over to a forecast, which indicated that the rain would be just a morning thing, at which point he interrupted to celebrate the fact that it would be “better weather” soon.
Really? We’ve had maybe one actual day of rain since late June and the DJ is already bothered by this oh-so-necessary bit of water?
I arrived at the class and greeted my (mostly British) students, one of whom said, “I was so looking forward to the rain, but I forgot how dark and dreary it is!” The others all nodded.
Keep in mind, we’re in a drought. I can practically hear the landscape groaning in pure happiness from this blessed water falling from the sky, and by 09:15 the Brits are already complaining about it. Do they really hate rain that much?