On Pluviophilia

Dear John,

 

I've been groomed. Hunter must have thought I needed it. When, in the course of washing sheets and blankets, I interrupted his nap for the fourth time, he licked my face thoroughly. Abby had already groomed my nose. So I look my best for you this evening.

 

I ran errands downtown this morning. The mobs that came for the horse sale are gone and things are back to normal. It was raining and I got soaked, but I like downtown on Saturday mornings. I took the recycling, then went to the bank, the grocery store, and both hardware stores. It was too late for the post office by the time I'd gotten the recycling loaded into the car.

 

It was lovely to be out in the rain. I've loved rainy days all my life. I need the sun sometimes, too, but there's something cozy and comforting about a rainy day. It's nice to go out and get wet, and then it's nice to come inside, warm and dry, and listen to the rain fall. The only thing I'm missing is a metal roof. We talked about wanting to do metal when this roof needs replacing, and I'd still like to do that. I miss the sound of rain on one.

 

So - among other things - I'm a pluviophile. (I've been called worse - I used to work with cardiothoracic surgeons.) And I've had a lovely rainy day, with red and yellow leaves wet and shiny, and dramatic gray-and-black skies. And thank you for all your hard work - the basement is dry.

 

Love you, adore you, worship the ground you walk on,

Joan.