The real rains have come. I welcome them, as it signals me to spend more time in the studio, more time in my head. My morning workouts with Boone are all but gone,and even getting a walk in now must be calculated between showers. When I moved from Minnesota, I was amused at all the different variations of the word 'rain' that the Oregon weather used.'Showers'means rain drops but light density of drops, "rain" means "It's really pouring", to name just two. It's interesting how culturally humans have had to find words to describe things. One word now emits a whole visual experience in one's head. Minnesota has many words to describe various intensities of snow - flurries, a dusting, slush, blanket.
I like the rains even with the drawbacks that continual water can create. But when I first visited Oregon back in '01, it was March, and I had left the cold tundra of my homeland. I remember the sensation of stepping onto ground in mid winter in Portland, and 'feeling' the earth as a soft blanket, versus a frozen solid form I had just left in Minnesota. I was ready to live in a climate where the earth was softer, and I
wouldn't require a Lake Wobegon outfit just to go to the car and back. I love Minnesota, in fact, I miss a lot about it - the work ethic is more to my liking, the flatness mixed with lakes, and it's where I first walked, first cried, first ate. My Grandmother died on her city street, of a heart attack, 2 hours before I was born. My father once said that studies show most people return to their homelands to die, out of instinct. I can understand that. But I can't fathom that right now.One of the drawbacks of rainy season, is my morning and nightly donkey hugs are very messy. In fact, I usually have to just kiss noses, and rub the one area between the donkey's front legs that manage to stay dry. This time of year, the donks are fuzzy with winter coats. They still roll in the compost pile, making full body hugs a dirty business. So, until spring, or a dry spell, nose kisses will have to do. Better than nothing.
