My little sister shoveled her driveway, took off her boots, and watched the City snow plow clear her street right into her just finished escape route.
So I know I shouldn't complain about the grey, overcast, gloomy, where's-my-sunshine weather we've been having here. I'll be the first to admit that I've become a total weather wimp. Sure, I'm pouting. But it's a righteous pout, because I think I am completely justified.
Every time we've moved, there's been one thing, one can't-be-argued-with thing, that made my new home irresistible. Chicago had neighborhoods with character. Marin had that perfect Mediterranean climate in which anything will grow. And Arizona has the sunshine. When our ethnic neighborhood became generically gentrified, when the fog rolled over Mt. Tam in July, and now, when the sun is hiding behind thick, ominous clouds...... well, ladies and gentlemen, I pout. Because I had been really happy before I moved to (choose one) and why did we ever leave (choose one) and my lower lip begins to protrude and I'm pouting.
No, it's not very adult behavior. But it's honest. And honesty is prized in the desert southwest; authenticity trumps fashion every day in a hundred different ways here. Pouting, however, is frowned upon.
So, I'm moderately abashed. But when I can sit and write to you and see this
from my desk ...
just after Thanksgiving, wearing shorts and a tank top and enjoying the slight breeze as I watched the moon rise over the the Pusch Ridge.....
..... or find this a few hours later
(my kingdom for a camera which could have captured the stars, too)
...... well, it's just hard to muster up any enthusiasm for gloom. The saguaros are plumping up and the trees have a gentle hint of yellow and I know that's only because of the gloom, but my psyche says otherwise.
Because, I mean, like, really when I've had this
it's hard to be glad when the outside looks like this