24 Hours of Rain

It is unusual to wake up in the summer in New Orleans to a proper rainy day. Here the rain comes in fits, in floods, heavy in the afternoon, secretly at night. It is brief but often too fast for the saturated ground and causes flooding. But today I woke late, noticed the dark, the unusually coolish air, and went back to sleep. I read in bed with The Cat and my sweetie, and finally got up before lunch.

The rain actually began yesterday during our yardsale. We were lucky enough to have lots of friends stop by, starting right at 8. We had cookies, and lemonade. At one point, Andy made grits and vegetables for all of us under the tent, hiding in the shade. Old friends met new friends and Eric insisted on this photo of himself and Misha to prove we were all here for a minute. When the rain started, friends and strangers crowed in, away from the edges as we tried to keep the rain from pooling on the tent. I was in the middle of "fixing" Eric's bicycle, recused from a free pile somewhere in the city, so he was stranded with us, making for at least three people under the tent at all times. A crowded little party, but easy to pass the cookies.

This morning, this pile was all that's left. There is a soggy box on the curb with some plastic containers, and these piles waiting for their new owners to claim them or to be donated or sold somewhere else. All day I have been sleepy, sluggish. A combination of rain and allergies, of sleeping too much and from being worn out from the unspoken goodbyes. It is a drawn out process, as we still don't leave for two weeks, but also a chance for multiple meetings, coffee and dinner, or a walk and a snoball. And tonight, maybe even a bikeride.

Temporal Amnesia

 at the park in Torino

In Italian, tempo means time or weather. Not in english. I'm using it this way here because "meteorological amnesia" doesn't sound right. I mean time and weather. I was trying to explain this to a friend to describe my feelings about spring in Milan. Some days, I wake up, walk to the grocery store and the sky is so clear and thick with color. The trees are breathing and everything seems possible. It is hard not to smile. This morning was like this. But as I left the grocery, I could see the clouds.

sitting on the Po River, Torino

The rain here isn't like in Louisiana, where it is so humid the rain has to be aggresive to get noticed. It rains hard here but not for long. But the grey sticks. And wipes out any memory of a sunny morning. It is dark. We abandon all plans to go out. I've tried but everyone seems inside, snuggled in until it is over. I stay home for days studying (or procrastinating). Sometimes the sun will return and we forget the rain. The air warms right up to a perfect comfortable temperature and we go out for coffee again, or I walk around.

good night

At night they grey will slowly fade but when it is clear, the sun is up late. And when it finally sets I have this nearly full moon out my window.

Louisiana Drought

Seriously, its been the worst drought since 1895 and Monday, the weather expert on the radio said that Louisiana farmers need ten inches of rain to counteract these conditions, which he also said was not going to happen. And an hour later, it rained like this. And every day since then. I know that a slow steady rain would be more effective but my tomatoes are swimming. The ones at the garden have a little more room for run off and absorption. But while we were waiting for the rain to subside, Andy's mom said she wished she was a weather forecaster--she would like to be paid to be wrong all the time.