Look at that crazy lady slogging through the rain with that little white dog while the water just streams off her coat and down her face. Why, she must be soaked to the bone! And she's talking to herself, just jabbering on. You think she's talking to the dog?
Nope, that was just me, admonishing myself, "How insane is it to blow-dry your hair before walking in a deluge? Man, it is coming down now!" My raincoat and Bogs did an admirable job but any part of me that was exposed was soaking by the time I reached home. Charley and I stood in the front hallway in our respective puddles, cursing. I mean, what idiot takes a shower, dries her hair, and then goes for a mile stroll in pouring rain?
What is it the Londoners say in Asterix in Britain? "Mist is a little heavy this morning!" Rain rolls off Obelix and Asterix and Dogmatix and Obelix says, "These British are crazy." Good stuff. Well, the mist was a wee bit heavy this morning here in the Pacific Northwest!
I blow-dried my hair again and my jeans. And reheated a cup of tea which is--whoops--now sitting cold in the microwave.
Nope, that was just me, admonishing myself, "How insane is it to blow-dry your hair before walking in a deluge? Man, it is coming down now!" My raincoat and Bogs did an admirable job but any part of me that was exposed was soaking by the time I reached home. Charley and I stood in the front hallway in our respective puddles, cursing. I mean, what idiot takes a shower, dries her hair, and then goes for a mile stroll in pouring rain?
What is it the Londoners say in Asterix in Britain? "Mist is a little heavy this morning!" Rain rolls off Obelix and Asterix and Dogmatix and Obelix says, "These British are crazy." Good stuff. Well, the mist was a wee bit heavy this morning here in the Pacific Northwest!
I blow-dried my hair again and my jeans. And reheated a cup of tea which is--whoops--now sitting cold in the microwave.
Underground Weather tells me:
Elev 60 ft 47.74 °N, 122.66 °W | Updated 3 sec ago
Rain
50.9 °F
Feels Like 50.9 °F
N
0.0
Wind Variable
Gusts 0.0 mph
Gusts 0.0 mph
Today is forecast to be COOLER than yesterday.
Lest I be mocked my all you easterners and midwesterners who are up to your ankles right now in melting (or still freezing snow), let me establish: I am not complaining. The tips of my bulbs are poking through the dark black garden soil and this morning I felt cheered by the sight of a robin hopping about, a worm half-slurped hanging from the corner of his beak.
Shhh, don't tell anyone and I'm most ashamed to admit it, but I've been watching this feel-good, light-weight show by Hallmark (I know, I am trusting you with my most shameful secrets) based on books by a local author, Debbie Macomber (and while we're in confessional mode, let me just admit I've been eating tons and tons of honey-roasted peanuts to the point where I kind of hate them now). It is the perfect thing to watch whilst Martin is working long hours and the grey rain continues. It's like soaking in a warm bath eating Dove chocolates while someone sprays rose-scented water in your face.
The stories are set in a fictional coastal town just miles from where we live, so people are always talking about Tacoma and Seattle. In this fictional world, Tacoma is not a sprawling city but a charming faraway place full of artists and chefs. Also, apparently for these folks, Seattle has impeccable seafood restaurants by the Sound. As far as I knew, the only seafood joint right on the Sound in the city is Ivars, where you lap up fried fish whilst standing up and throwing french fries to the raucous seagulls.
But ah, not Macomber's world. Let me describe the images that roll blissfully past your longing eyeballs while the first credits appear: Andie MacDowell, hair perfectly curled (no helmet of course) climbs on her bike (basket perennially full of blooming flowers) and pedals in high heels down a gentle curve in the road and along the coast. A rainbow hovers over the water. A yoga class or something close stretches out in the park. She waves to one of the many attractive white people she knows who wave back. Well, it's just another beautiful day. Welcome to Cedar Cove.
Let me tell you something funny about Cedar Cove. It never rains there. Which is incredible, since a few miles away here in Poulsbo, it dumps rain almost every day all year (except for the summer which is absolutely perfect and lures us all into living here longer and forgetting about the rain.) I can't imagine what happens to Annie MacDowell's shining, lustrous curls on the rainy days, and apparently she doesn't own a car, just a bicycle. I'd love to see her pedaling along in a downpour. Hah! That image just made my day.
Anyway, I'm procrastinating wildly right now because I've been diligently trying for the last two or three days to establish a personal author website. It is a DRAG. The first two attempts were such soaring disasters that even Martin drew a horror-filled breath. "What's WRONG with it?" he said, looking at my page. "I TOLD you," I said, jabbing with the mouse at a rogue widget. I made a little progress lately when I found out that wordpress combined with Safari would make the most calm person want to bash their brains out on their keyboards. So today I made some progress on Chrome but my website still looks like a monkey designed it. I'm not even going to tell you the web address. It's too embarrassing.
I bet in Cedar Cove, everyone's websites are perfect. Actually, they are. I heard about them in the last episode, the one where the jail convict is exonerated even though everybody hates him initially because he (gasp) stole stuff and served his time--but he's still a convict! That was the episode where MacDowell's daughter gets lost in Alaska and (gasp) breaks down for a couple hours before some lady restarts her car. Or was that the one before? In Cedar Cove, even the emergencies are not really emergencies. If you scratch a bad person, well, gosh, they're good underneath, and everyone carries lattes and everyone is happy. Kind of like the real world, yes? I mean, except for the lattes of course.
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