rain

It's Valentine's, and, as usual, no Valentine. My 30th b-day approaches, I'm unemployed, and it's raining. I should be sad, but I'm not.

Maybe it's because I love rain. I grew up during a six-year drought in Southern California, which I attribute to bad karma from electing Ronald Reagan President twice. One year it only rained twice, and we installed lo-flo showerheads and toilets. I even tried a raindance on our dead lawn.

Shortly after a rainstorm is a wonderful time to be in L.A. The air is so fresh, it makes you want to sing and dance and splash in puddles.

I remember visiting my mother and sister as an adult, and we headed to the new mega-mall in Ontario. It was raining. After wandering around inside, we went back to the car. The rain had stopped, and, lo and behold, there was a gigantic mountain range right behind the lot, so close you could almost touch it. Now, I never got out past Pasadena much as a child, but when I did I certainly had no notion that there was a ten-thousand-foot mountain range with peaks not three miles from the valley floor. The things you miss not being able to see ten blocks through the smog.

Happy Valentine's Day. Enjoy the rain.