I’ve got a deep secret few people understand and even fewer will admit to sharing.
It’s time to tell the truth:
I love the rain, deeply and passionately and more than the sun.
At least I live in the right place,
famous for its damp weather and spawning its own genuine rainforest.
I can’t imagine living anywhere else than the Pacific Northwest.
The sun shines so infrequently that my friends forget where they put their sunglasses.
Gloomy clouds cause many people around here to suffer from seasonal affective disorder.
Yet I welcome the rain.
Seattleites will say they like how rain keeps the city green,
how clean the air tastes afterwards.
My real reason for enjoying the rain is steeped in pure selfishness
when it’s mucky outside,
I don’t have to do anything.
I can spend the afternoon curled up reading,
build a fire and make a big pot of spiced tea.
I can sleep in late, waking up occasionally to hear soothing patter on the roof,
water racing down the gutter.
Nobody expects me to leave my house or do anything overly productive.
Maybe I’ll invite a few friends over to watch an old movie or play a board game.
Friendsexpectations are low and easy to meet.
Summer in Seattle is beautiful but exhausting.
The sunny, gorgeous weather and blue skies draw Seattleites from their cozy little homes,
ready to dry out and have fun.
People go hiking, biking, canoeing.
Folks work in their gardens, wash their cars
and attend outdoor concerts in the park all in the same day!
The effort involved to throw a party ratchets up several notches,
as people host barbecues and picnics and water-skiing parties.