Weather and I have always had an unstable relationship. I spend the winter months curled in one of my many, many blankets while perched on top of the heater vents. The summer, on the other hand, is spent repressing a hiss every time I step outside and feel the sun. In the winter I can only think of the green grass of summer, and in the summer my thoughts are often turned to the sweatshirts and hot chocolate of winter. The only thing that really remains the same between the two is that fact that my family is going to fall victim to my cold hands regardless of the weather. Cold hands, warm heart, right?
Basically, I’m a girl who doesn’t like it too hot or too cold so I’m often left to scavenge for the perfect temperature until the fall or spring. Living in southern Utah, that is especially hard to do. “If you’re sick of the weather, just wait five minutes” is a common phrase in these parts, and for good reason. I don’t dare count the times that I’ve gone to school bundled in the entire winter ensemble of gloves, boots, and marshmallow coat only to end up in a short-sleeved shirt soaked with sweat by the time I come home. In the course of five hours, I’ve gone from searching “how to treat hypothermia” to “how to fry an egg on the pavement”.
There is really only one type of weather I can be happy in, and that is rain. Sure, sunny, cloudless days are nice, but they don’t quite make my heart rate spike in anticipation the same way that little gray storm icon does.
It’s a mystery why I like rain so much. Maybe it echoes the depressed soul of my writer’s heart.
I love the anticipation of a rainstorm, when the gray clouds cover the sky and everything seems muffled and still. I even love the wind that raises goosebumps on my arms and brings that pre-rain smell.
The smell of rain has to be my all-time favorite scent. If someone can find a way to bottle petrichor and put in on shelves I guarantee that you will be a hundred times richer and I’ll be a hundred times poorer. Maybe I won’t smell like money, but who really wants to smell like paper anyway?
I get excited over the little things that come with rain, like opening and closing and umbrella. One of these days I’m going to reenact that scene from Singing in the Rain, where Gene Kelly’s character bursts into song in the middle of a rainstorm and disturbs everyone within a 20 foot radius with his dancing. I can’t sing to save my life, and I would probably take out my own eye if I were to spin that umbrella like he does, but it’s still on my bucket list.
I even love to be miserable in the rain. Letting the cold water seep into my shoes and completely soak my socks, the water drenching my hair until it clings to my neck looking like wet Ramen noodles, feeling thunder rumbled through my entire body as I run from my house to my car and hope that I don’t get struck by lightning—it brings a smile to my face even as I shiver violently. In the rain, I feel gross and gloomy and happy and refreshed all at the same time because I know that being soaked to the bone means I can go home, change into an oversized shirt and sweats, and sip some hot chocolate as I watch the droplets paint the windows and the puddles fill the empty street. Sometimes I feel like that’s the only time I’m truly content.
I revel in the post-rainstorm world as well. Everything looks so clean, even the dirt. Anything that can be classified as a noun has a lethargic quality to it as it tries to adjust to its altered, cleansed environment. I absolutely love the way that the wet roads and sky reflect each other, and that earthly smell just…ah. I’ve reached heaven. (Seriously, if anyone wants to be a hero and make a perfume that smells like rain I will willingly donate three dollars to assist you in your research).
There’s also the important fact that rain is not snow. Snow is like a distant relative that decided to crash at your house for a week. At first everything is fine, but then things quickly go downhill. It comes and it stays and it makes life inconvenient and you don’t dare leave the house out of fear that it will break something (like your car…or bones…) and you can’t get rid of it because it’s family so you’re stuck with it until the summer when you can ship it away to another relative.
Calli Fun Fact #23: she can’t make good metaphors.
No, rain is nice. It gives you a day or two of joyous misery and moves on its way.
Unless you are in California right now. That’s rough, folks. If anyone wants to borrow an umbrella, I have a broken one in my car. Maybe if you sing “Rain, Rain Go Away” a few times it will get the hint and leave you alone. And if it’s at all possible, could you maybe try to direct some of it towards Utah? I would be a very happy camper if you do.