I don’t know if it’s my British ancestry or my highly flammable ginger complexion, or perhaps even, according to my husband Doo, my cold and dead soul, but I am digging the rainy weather outside my windows right now.
There’s just something about a dreary day. I love that Mother Nature has given me permission to sit on this couch and ignore yard work and exercising. I love that I am basically forced to turn on the fireplace. I love that I feel no compulsion whatsoever to literally do anything productive except microwave leftover Stouffer’s lasagna and sip hot tea. I especially love that I can legitimately go to bed at six p.m. because glorious nightfall has arrived early and that I can sleep under the heavy blanket because temperatures might dip below freezing! Fingers crossed!
I don’t even care that the semi-monsoon has short-circuited half of the house. When you have a fabulous Halloween display that includes an animatronic Pennywise, 2,000 feet of orange twinkle lights and dozens of red and green spots, all wired through 15 different extension cords, some rated “inside use only,” you learn to expect electrical mishaps. Nope, no worries here. I am literally soaking up a beautiful gift of a miserable afternoon and considering moving to Seattle or Dublin.
Don’t get me wrong. I probably couldn’t handle months on end of no warmth or sunshine. Usually, by March I’m ready to auction off my firstborn to buy an airline ticket to anywhere south. But a good, old-fashioned rainy fall day every once in a while? Well, that’s right up my Irish, redheaded, soulless alley.