The blue sky has turned ash in color, similar to the gray of pewter goblets. Large storm clouds roll over the horizon resembling puffs of thick cigar smoke, which blow down onto the quiet city streets below. The first winter rain has arrived in Northern California. Raindrops fall like thousands of soft crystal beads bouncing like tiny wet rubber balls on the pavement below. Cats and dogs run for cover and the smell of wet pavement permeates the air. Beds feel extra comfy on such days and the will to remove oneself from bed is lost in the warmth of the embrace of soft sheets.
... Until Boonie the spotted terrier dog decides it is time to pull off the covers, exposing skin to the shock of the cool morning air. Rain, sleet, heat or snow when a dog is in need, we must go. The grass feels like damp wash cloths, as the wet blades push up between my toes. Raindrops hit my face and Boonie's fur. She is oblivious to the weather and runs to every corner of the wet landscape. How I long for those warm summer mornings.
Rushed dog walkers pull their rain hats over their heads and hurry down the street tugging at their pets who resist by pulling back with childish defiance. The smell of burning wood brings the realization there are those who rise to a warm crackling fire. It smells like Halloween. These are the times I miss a married life. Soon I will decorate our place with visions of ghosts and witches, goblins and bats. Shortly we will be deep in planning Brian's costume. I long for our old home, a husband and one of my crazy Halloween parties. Maybe in my next life.
Brian wishes for a snowstorm that will render it impossible to go to school. Unfortunately for him, we picked the wrong part of California to make a home for this wish to come true. We can regret many things, but often the life we are given is the life we'd chose again. He must go to school, and I must work. Life 101.
Hot showers become our warmth as the floor begins to feel like chilled wine bottles. The lower setting of the heater is no longer set high enough to warm us. Soon, Thanksgiving will be here and our thoughts turn to snowflakes. Turtle necks and knee high boots become the norm as we greet our front doors in complete darkness before 5;30 p.m.
By the time we come back up for spring Brian will be well on his way towards Junior high and I will be closing in on yet another year nearer to 50. My own father died at age 48 ... it seems so young. I look at those about me and ponder why they are wasting time getting on with their lives ... getting married...having children. The seasons move so quickly. Before we have a chance to say "Merry Christmas", it will be St. Patrick's Day and another winter will be lost to time.
With each passing day I feel better and better. Like a slow moving train leaving the station, my engine begins to pick up steam. I wonder how great I will feel come next Spring. Already, the difference is amazing. Within the month the hills turn to emerald green and Sonoma County begins to resemble Ireland. How I dream of my home country, far away from so many unhappy Americans. I long to return to the home of my ancestors, raise horses, plant roses and walk to town. A small field of clover blooms just outside my back gate. I wish upon them every day.
Later at the office, the slow sound of the doorknob opens to reveal an old friend. His offer for lunch is perfect for this rainy winter day. The walk to the restaurant frizzes my Irish red hair and my skin becomes pink. We talk of Boston, Detroit and Chicago ... how I miss traveling to other cities. I forgot the difference between California men and Mid-west men, Each time I walk, he automatically takes the outside lane. He makes sure he reaches the door ahead of me and opens them with a smile. He fuses about me like I am someone to be carefully cared for. I am saddened that I rarely see this. We sacrifice a lot for the so-called sunshine that is California. His manners soften my resolve and we are lost in laughter on our rainy walk back to the office. With a hug and a kiss he is back in his car on his long drive back home. I am once again left behind in this town.
Brian decides to come here, as it seems he prefers to stay at our home these days. We decide to roll out the hide-a-bed and eat cold chicken, like a picnic, while watching TV. He lights a fire and makes me laugh. He really does know how to create paradise. I can endure anything for him. Soft candles flicker on the mantle as we exchange turns reading Dickon's Oliver Twist.
"Surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone." (Oliver Twist)
Until next time-
C
