We need the rain

 I looked outside before raising the Kevlar® screen on the lanai. “Looks like rain,” I said aloud and decided not to raise the screen. I put my phone and e-reader on a lamp table and went into the kitchen to fix my breakfast. My phone rang just after I had a bowl, spoon and cereal box on the counter. I walked to the living room, arriving just as the ringing ended. A common thing, reaching the phone too late, when I walk unaided.

The screen had a message. This area is under a severe thunderstorm alert until 9:30 a.m. As write, the time is 9:19 a.m. Rain falls outside, a moderate rainfall. Certainly not a Texas rainfall and somebody in the house says, “Whooee! Would you listen to that!” Even when we went through the edge of a hurricane in 2018, it was no bigger than a good Texas thunderstorm.

“It’s going to rain,” I said to myself when reading the message. “Imagine that.”

One thing about Florida storms, you never know which direction one might come from. In Texas, most weather comes from the southwest. In winter, a double-c cold winter, storms sometimes come in from the north, occasionally from the east. Here in Florida, the weather God set thing up so weather can come in from any direction. Sometimes there will be a strong upper wind suddenly make a 90-degree turn. Weird. But, that’s Florida.

Rain has pretty much stopped now. But in the background I hear something that sounds like another wind and maybe some rain. The weather service hasn’t told me anything new, though.

Okay. 9:30. Rain’s gone. But I hear thunder.

Corporate planning

My wife and my daughter are in a Midwestern state that is currently being covered with snow. They are on a floor above one. Early this morning, electricity went out. No elevators. Walk down several flights of stairs. Exit doors are electric. They won’t open. So, in the middle of a snow storm, hotel management decided, “Prop open the doors.” My wife said, “The lobby is cold.” Here, the temperature is 90 degrees at 4:20 p.m. Sometimes, Florida is great.

Dry shaving, no-fly weather and wet dogs

Life in The Sunshine State

A few days ago we had “The third named tropical storm” of the season. I never saw or heard what the name was.

Here south of Tampa, we got some rain from the edge of the tropical storm, but nowhere near as much as in Korea (1965) or Vietnam (1967) or even several thunderstorm seasons in Texas. I’m not complaining; I don’t want to see that much rain again.

In 1965 Korea, water points flooded, bringing announcement water would be used for cooking and washing dishes, nothing else. But, all soldiers were expected to continue shaving every day. “Use water in roadside ditches,” the first sergeant said. I dry-shaved. Used a razor blade a day, but it got the job done.

In 1967 Vietnam, tropical storms brought not only rain, but also days of no flying. Helicopters then were fair weather machines. Probably still are, but navigation equipment is much better.

Friday afternoon, there was light rain when the dogs said to me, “We really, really need to go outside and do what we normally do outside.”

I said, “It’s raining.”

“We really, really …” and they were hopping from foot to foot.

“Okay, okay.” I put on my shoes and pulled on a wet weather jacket, leashed up the dogs, and out we went for the 100-yard walk to the dog park.

We were about half way there when the clouds opened. By arrival time, the dogs were hanging their wet heads, my shoes were soaked, as were my jeans, and I had discovered the wet weather suit was not water proof.

The dogs did their business, and as I was bagging their business, they were saying, “It’s wet out here. We want to go back to the house.”

Well, who doesn’t?

Back home, my wife said, “You need a hot shower.”

She was right.

Winter was over …

… or so I thought, with daytime temperatures the last 10 days in the 70s, and yesterday at 79 or even 80 in places.

But nature/winds/ocean currents had a dissimilar idea. Today’s morning brought dark clouds, and even a rumble of thunder so quiet as not to disturb even the dogs, both of whom are frightened in stormy weather, the degree of fear dependent upon loudness and severity of thunder and lightning.

Raining it is now, and lows are guessed for the 40s or so tonight.

One thing, though: When I look outside, leaves and grass are green. It is that way year-round.