We have been promised rain. We are into rain in a major way, here in Southern California.
Schools close. Freeways empty. There is never a better time to go from Balboa Island to Santa Monica than the day rain is promised.
Rain has been promised for Thanksgiving. It's all the talk. Strangers are discussing it with each other in elevators.
But do we believe this incredible news? Can we actually count on it to RAIN? Tell the children, to whom one mustn't lie?
Should we actually dig out the rusty umbrellas? Find the rain hats? Devise a raincoat?
Do they make sandal rain boots? Uggs, perchance? Usually we don't like to cover our pedicures, but donning Ugg rain boots would be too cool, if it actually rained as promised--
But we've heard this before. We've been disappointed before. We've gotten one clap of thunder, for instance, so abrupt we couldn't be sure. And that would be it. That would somehow make the weather broadcasters not liars.
There's a movie, The Weather Man, starring Nicholas Cage as a blighted weatherman in Chicago. I've lived in Chicago. Indeed, the weather is too bad to talk about. So he was a hated member of society there in Chicago.
Here our weather broadcasters have nothing to do. So sometimes maybe they get desperate for a different set of phrases to string together during their nightly broadcasts, and maybe, just maybe they get carried away and promise us rain, when all they really should have said was 'more of same.'
In the elevator a kindly gent informed the crowd being carried upward to floors four and five and eight, that he had washed his car, so it was sure to rain.
I too have done my bit. Yesterday I had my windows washed for Thanksgiving.
That will bring on the rain for sure, right?
Even here in Beautiful So Cal?
This morning's sunrise, at the end of the alley--this surely looks like rain, doesn't it?
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