Nothing to Talk About

I’m already missing the rain.

This has been a great week for watching TV, becoming an expert in meteorology, and finding something in common with people you barely know. “Well,” I importantly tell the man wrapping up my Number 9 at D’Angelo’s, “It appears that we have a stationary mass trapped between two fronts that are preventing the storm from moving offshore.”

“If this were snow, it would be equivalent of 12 to 14 feet,” he says to me.

I take my sandwich.  We’ve bonded.

Let’s face it, most of us have very little to talk about. The gubernatorial race is too far away and we’ve run out of ways to curse George Bush.  Sports are a common ground for some but beyond that, what? Hey, I changed the oil on ten cars today! Hey, I successfully negotiated the second clause of a subordination agreement today! Hey, I prescribed penicillin today!

I don’t think so.

I know, we pretend to despair when the weather turns bad and joy when the sun comes out.  In fact, the opposite is true.  Winter is the best season, filled with on-the-edge-of-your-seat anticipation over snow, wind and school closings.  But spring – and May in particular? We usually spend the month watching the flowers grow.

Sure, I’m sorry about the flooding (but weren’t the visuals cool?). And I know the clean-up will be tough (but think of the opportunities to learn about mildew!).  But you know you’ve lived through exciting times when they already have a title (“The Floods of 2006”). Now that it’s over, the sense of anomie returns. Sunny days, temperatures in the 70s.  Yawn. I start to think I understand what it must be like to live in San Diego.

But wait, there’s hope. The forecast calls for rain. There’s a possibility of a thunderstorm! The heart quickens in anticipation.