It’s raining again, as it has been on and off for the past few days. Usually the rain comes in the evening when it’s barely noticeable, but it started raining this morning just as I set out for a walk, and now it’s pouring. The cloud cover is so heavy that it seems more like twilight rather than barely afternoon.

Can you tell I have nothing to say? I mean, really, what can one say about rain? The moisture is desperately needed in this dangerously desiccated and drought-ridden area, of course, and it’s a nice change of pace from the dry heat we’d been suffering through. And it’s great to see my yard greening up. But other than that, rain is . . . rain.

Shortly after the dark clouds moved in, the local tornado siren went off. A quick look at the clock reminded me this was the weekly test — every Monday at noon, we’re blasted with three minutes of an unspeakable sound. Which led me to question: considering the weather, if a tornado had been in the area, how would we have known? Perhaps they would have let the siren finish its cycle and then started a second cycle as a warning?

Not that it would matter to me — I probably wouldn’t go down the basement. Stairs. Bum knee. Not a pleasant combination at the best of times, though come to think of it, I did manage to creep down those steps the other day to replace the furnace filter. When the contractors come, they would be glad to do such a chore for me, but there are always way more important things for them to do. Such as fixing the stoop outside the back door, putting in a sidewalk from the house to the garage, dragging the old counters into the garage instead of letting them rust and rot in the backyard. (It takes two people — strong people — to move them, and only one has been coming here at a time when anyone does come.)

The counters were in the enclosed porch when I got here, and they put them in the garage so they could redo the porch foundation. Then, when the garage was torn down, they were stored under the carport. And when the carport was finally hauled away, there the counters sat. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but I worry about them out there in all this rain. If nothing else, when the rain stops and the counters dry out, I’ll cover them. Oh, wait. That will guarantee no more rain! Such a dilemma.

It will all work out in the end, I’m sure.

Besides, I did tell the workers the garage was the most important thing, and it is fabulous not having to worry about my car out in inclement weather. (Is that proper English? Out in? It seems contradictory when I look at it.)

It is funny . . . rainy weather. Rain brings humidity, so even though it’s cool, it’s uncomfortable because of the humidity. I know . . . all you people who live in humid climates are looking askance at me (or giving me askance thoughts if there is such a thing) because you often have to suffer uncomfortable humidity levels, but when one is used to single digit humidity, 80% is ridiculously high.

Apparently, since I can’t go out and ramble physically, I’m rambling verbally. At least I’m rambling, right?


Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator