Bud Hartwell is a friend of my husband. He started the San Diego Volvo Club in 1978 that my husband now heads. When Bud was recently asked to attend a Volvo meeting, and it was raining, Bud replied, “I don’t do rain.”
My husband doesn’t do rain either. Nor does our other basset, Rocky. When the rain hits, my husband becomes a wimp and so does the dog. It is rather pathetic actually. Two grown creatures curling in retreat – my husband in the bedroom and Rocky in the corner of the family room. Getting Rocky to go outside when it rains is like trying to move the Titanic. Talk about difficult. As to my husband he just gets depressed. Mightily so. Hovered under the electric blanket, he becomes an immovable object. Like Rocky, he feels trapped. Can’t work on his cars, can’t go to the swap meet, can’t do a darn thing.
I look at the rain and feel happy for our flowers. I put out the fertilizer knowing it does better in the rain. The rain is also my excuse to not feel I have to work at warp speed to accomplish all that I want to do. The rain makes me pause and appreciate a slower pace of being.
I worry of course when there is too much. Too much rain and clay soil can make for a soggy mess. Depending on where the plant sits in the yard, the roots could literally hate it.
It’s a good thing Jim and I live in San Diego. Rain occurs, but not very often. God only knows how Jim survived as long as he did in the Northwest with the incessant drizzle. In fact, I created a song for him. Drizzle, I would sing, my voice deep like Rosemary Clooney. It’s the Northwest drizzle. Jim hated the song, falling into a dark hole, screaming STOP! I would laugh. It was cruel, I know, but I couldn’t help myself. Rain doesn’t bug me like it bugs my husband.
Every season has its blessing. Spring in particular reminds me of renewal. Today was sunny. A perfect blue sky day. The flowers perked, the birds sang joyfully, and I felt the fever to garden to my heart’s content. I hit the nursery and dropped a ton of money on plants and compost. I was not alone. The line was long, filled with expectant faces ready for that gardening fix. It’s a chance to make things new again and there is nothing like Spring to tell you so. Jim was manic too, having the time of his life, taking a hike with Sophie, surfing the net for another Volvo, animated, happy for warmth, a true blue sunshine boy.
As for Rocky, he hung out with me as I gardened. He found his spot in the sun on the hill among the flowers. A perfect moment. For him. For us.