rainwalker

Two days ago, I made an important purchase and a vital concession to the Northwest.  I bought a spanking new pair of Bogs.  In the past dreary, wet 48 hours, any guilt I harbored about dropping a hundred dollars on footwear has evaporated (it's the only thing that has evaporated lately).  Precipitation is the rule here.  Romantic, drizzly, Londonesque rain that stops nobody from living.  Umbrellas are for wimps.  Here we clothe ourselves in gortex.  Twice every day the school doors open and long lines of students scatter over the playground, despite a rainy forty degrees.  Elspeth told me that her day was not as good as it might have been because the monkey bars were dripping and she had to jump rope instead.  Bicyclists do not stop pedalling in the mud--that's what waterproof pants and rain-guards are for, and besides, like my brother who lives in Seattle, a bike is your car and your only way to work.  Merry is currently at soccer practice, clad in my rain-shell and in cleats that will be absolutely soaked by the time she gets home after dark.

And now, thanks to my new Bogs, I am a rainwalker.  I pull my hood up and hit the pavement, enjoying the water pearling on red and orange maple leaves, the way the rain slips down my hood and drops, just out of tongue-distance, past my face.

Besides that, the Bogs are so cute they make me feel giddy every time I look down and see blue flowers blooming on my boots.  I feel like a kid again, but this time a high-tech kid.  Well, almost high-tech.  I'm combing Goodwill for gortex.  There's only so much money I can throw at brand new gear before feeling miserable about myself, even if I do live in Washington and am a member of REI.  Even then.