Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Please, February, a little rain before you go

(Disclaimer:  The purpose of today's post is to share the art of Tomoharu Kairaku and try to coax the rain back to Los Angeles.  Oh, to have that power.)

My closet is a museum.  The only umbrella we own, an ancient, pop-open compact contraption resides somewhere beneath or beside a navy blue bathing suit, the very model of defeated elastic,  overlooked in the recent purge, and a prehistoric flat-bed scanner bigger than a couch cushion.  Rain is forecast for Southern California, beginning today and perhaps lasting, on and off, through Sunday.  They are preparing the lifeboats.  I believe it is foolish to be too hopeful.  We stand in costly, dangerous drought. 

I hope, if the much-touted precipitation arrives in any quantity, that I get to spend some of the time in bed, like Tomoharu Kairaku's cheek-to-cheek companions below, listening to what I think of as February sounds.  Living on the second floor, if the weather is more showery, the sound is tire whoosh on the street.  Anything heavier splashes on the walkway and drips from shamelessly patched gutters, plinks against the vent above the stove.
I love rain and I love February, month of my birthday, month of elementary school classroom fun with Presidential silhouettes and Valentine exchanges, month of recess spent indoors playing Steal the Bacon, month of taking myself out on a wet holiday from work to shop for heart stickers and patterned ribbon, never too old to make my own cards, my own envelopes.  The February of my memory is brimming with rain - for the bus ride downtown to shop with birthday money, for grown-up birthday dinners reached via glistening freeways and puddled roads.  I am counting on February, miniature month, to set us on the path to restoration.

Think good thoughts for us, for farmers in the San Joaquin Valley and all agricultural areas, for ski resorts and lakes in which boat docks and water are dozens of yards apart, for firefighters and native creatures whose quests for food and water have them roaming back yards and city streets.
Think us a little bit of winter, our version of it, thank you, not the likes of which other parts of the country have endured, if you don't mind.  Sunny days will return soon enough.


Kerry O'Gorman said...

I love the rain as well...huddled under my giant Costco umbrella or looking out from the fire warmed studio.
Such evocative thoughts you have penned...and those sweet paintings! Sigh...happy birthday!

Kass said...

Lovely words and pics. Especially appreciate "deflated elastic."

Marylinn Kelly said...

Kerry - In more ambulatory days I had a giant NBC (former employer) golf umbrella that I loved, so protective, so sheltering. Thank you for the birthday greeting. And are they not sweet paintings? Your felted owl and pussycat are a most charming pair. xo

Marylinn Kelly said...

Kass - Thank you. When I saw the sad bathing suit, that was how it appeared. Isn't it wonderful to know we will likely never run out of new-to-us artists to discover? xo

Erin in Morro Bay said...

We've had two good storms so far in the past three days and hoping for more. The Cove has finally turned green!

Marylinn Kelly said...

Erin - Same for us. A good steady rain Wednesday overnight, then heavier and more stormy early this morning, off and on and we can see it coming back. The wind is really picking up. First sideways rain we've had in a long time. Yay. xo