I've been watching on Facebook as friends out east are surviving weeks of ice and snow, while in other parts of the country they are already barefoot in hammocks with warm, yellow sunsets.
I look out the window to my gray, wet, Seattle world. It is so consistent... so temperate. So mild.
And I'm not sure why but sometimes I just want some Crazy up in here. I want it to do more than just a quiet, steady mist of rain - I want crashing thunder and flashes of light. I want to lose power and light candles and hide under blankets. Or I want a snowstorm that forces Josh to spend long days at home playing Candyland and rationing out our coffee. Or I want that beating-down-on-you sunlight that makes the car stink like sweat and sunscreen.
Please tell me I'm not the only one?
Sometimes I think I've got a weirdo case of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Like a cousin disorder, something called Seasonal Neediness Disorder (SND). Or maybe Transitional Addiction Tendency (TAT). Always-Talking-About-The-Weather Disease (ATATWD). It's something about these long months of mild sameness, the lack of an extreme or lack of transition when my inner clock says "hello it's March I'm ready for flip-flops now please".... or maybe it's just my big, pregnant belly that says "sorry no I will not wear two layers of pants again."
I guess some perspective would tell me that the constant drizzle and cloudy sky is the extreme here, it is the challenge to be endured and embraced. Squeezing fleece leggings under my maternity jeans every morning, wiping the mud from Banjo's feet at the backdoor six times a day (4 feet x 6 potty breaks = 24 wipes a day), rinsing out the coffee filter again and again because coffee just happens that much. Decaf, of course.
It's all part of this hard core Seattle grunge life. This metal-y, angsty, survival-mode in a world of cold, gray, rain. Makes me consider putting on some non-decaf coffee just to get through it.
But then. Then.... when I have the eyes to see them... there's the silhouettes of giant evergreens, all stately and huge and unmoving on the white sky.
There's the beach, just minutes away, where our rain boots splash next to starfish and seaweed in the low tide.
There's the breaks in the clouds when I catch a glimpse of giant, snow-capped Mount Rainier in the distance and am reminded that we are literally surrounded by gorgeous mountain ranges and coastlines and forests.
There's the reality that my "reality" beneath these rain clouds is such a tiny part of a bigger picture.
I can kick off my boots and hang up my drippy jacket, flip on the tea kettle and wait...watch the puddles tremble under the gentle shower. Admire the strangely huge black crow perched ominously in the cedar and wonder nervously if he's watching the chickens. I can turn off Pandora and just listen....
And I can be thankful. Always thankful. And if I have too, I can wait just a little longer for flip-flops.
This random post is part of my effort to practice writing and sharing every day thoughts. I blogged a little already about this new "era" of honesty/vulnerability and am thrilled to link up at The Extraordinary Ordinary for Heather's weekly Just Write series (which she calls an "exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments." How perfect, right?) Come check it out and read some of the other link-ups!
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