Wet Dream

It’s raining again in Los Angeles.

It started last night, and continues now, on into the weekend. Rescue teams have already pulled someone out of a flood control channel today. They might as well stand by with their equipment, because for sure someone else will fall in tonight. As I have said before, it is a no-brainer to stay the hell away from these treacherous man-made maelstroms during a storm. For background on this, you can check this post.

This has been a wonderful wet winter in Southern California. Those of you who live in other parts of the country, forgive me for rhapsodizing about something so mundane, but this part of the world is a natural desert. If it weren’t for all the water we steal from Northern California and Arizona (via the Colorado River), the amout of rainfall here would support a community of about 80,000, and it wouldn’t be pretty. It would be brown, because we’d be drinking the water, not putting it on our lawns and gardens. I shouldn’t say “we,” because I wouldn’t be here.

I have a window cracked and outside the room where I type this stuff I can hear the rain. It’s a soothing, musical sound, and lulls me, making me dreamy and forgetful that the garage is probably flooding. So what? I have long ago lifted everything important off the floor out there, my spare monitor is resting safely (OK, precariously) on the seat of the excercise bike, the incredible array of cardboard boxes full of useless junk that I can’t throw away has been placed inside of waterproof plastic boxes. Why would I do a thing like that? It was a big job, but I did it because it semed like a big job to actually sort through the stuff and organize it. So I avoided one big job by doing a different, less useful, big job.

At the beginning of this winter I put rye grass seed down on the lawn. I just found out about this two or three years ago. I should have known about it, I guess, because apparently eveybody does it, but, to be generous, I’m a late bloomer. Professional gardeners and deep-rooted homeowners put fertilizer on top of the grass seed, which stinks up the neighborhood and, as far as I can tell, doesn’t do anything for the grass. Mine grows just as well, without the manure. Anyway, rye grass seed goes down on top of whatever grass you’ve got, no fuss, no muss, and it grows lush and green during the winter, then it’s gone. With all this rain, I’ve got me one bright green yard, and in the dead of winter. Sorry, Minnesota. At least you’ve got The Vikings in the Superbowl. Wait, you don’t have that, either.

I love this rainy splashy sound so much. After my jangling, jarring work week, it is a joyful pleasure just to sit and listen and write. This is not Big Storm rain, just a steady, gentle shower that covers everything, and washes away all my sins.