Slippery When Wet

It’s pouring outside. When we were little, my sister would say that rain is God crying. During earthquakes, she’d say it’s the devils fighting down below. Quite funny, cause we were never ever a religious family.

I don’t like rain. Over the years, I’ve observed that people either love it or hate it. Rain always depresses me. It makes me think of mud. In the non-paved streets of Istanbul, rain doesn’t cause a pretty mixture. Maybe it’s due to my having lived in big cities all my life, but rain is people rushing home, subways overflowing, and the unbearable traffic

I could imagine a beautiful house with large glass panes, facing the ocean, by the beach. In that case and assuming I don’t work or that I work from home, rain might not conjure up such bad emotions. If I lived by some trees, I might like that, too. I love the smell of wet trees.

I suppose the other factor would be the temperature. If it were raining but warm, like in Florida, I could go out in the rain in my shorts and twirl around. I might even do cartwheels. In Turkey, during the summer, we get short, fast showers. I remember many times where I’d be walking at Burgaz from my house to the club as I got caught in one of them and I’d get soaked. And then, just as quickly as it started, it would all be over and the sun would cover the sky, the last few drops decorating it with rainbows. It never bummed me out then, I just jumped in the sea with my clothes on.

I guess it’s closely related to my frame of mind. In the ideal setting, with no work to do, rain is delightful, but in New York, during lunch or the commute home, it’s a pain.

I’m definitely ready for spring.

Previously? Silence.