I could've sworn I lived in San Antonio. Good ol' south Texas. Dry. Hot. It's not that far back that I recall being on water retrictions so tight that you practically had to ask permission to brush your teeth on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
But apparently our house has been airlifted and dropped in the middle of Seattle. Because it just won't quit raining. And I'm not exaggerating. This has been the wettest year in San Antonio's recorded history, as well as the wettest June and July. Summer just seems to be passing us by as though it were another season altogether...only, well, soggier.
Now I'm not really complaining. Not really. Everything's so green and lush, and I know the farmers and other agricultural/horticulturally-related people must be so thrilled to have their share of rain.
But there are others of us, like my landscaper-husband, for instance, whose livelihood depends on having dry days. Lots of dry days. In a row. The poor guy is willing to work in intermittent showers and light rain, as he's tried to prove over the past 60 days. But when you have a constant downpour on you and your work, it can put a damper on things. We've had one dry week this month, and we're wondering if we'll ever see another one.
But we have a dry home on high ground, so I'll stop whining. And I have seen a few rainbows, which is reassuring. Otherwise, I think I'd be looking around to see who's building an ark...