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I have often mused about how much I like the rain. It’s easy to feel that way when most of the time, here in sunny Southern California, we don’t get much of it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all things in moderation are good mantras to have as long as the weather is cooperating.
But during the last couple of weeks what started out as a nice little winter rainstorm turned into a nightmare. In the beginning, the weather people on TV seemed to be delighted. They finally had some actual weather to talk about. And in the beginning we all viewed it as nothing more than a great way to build up our water levels, snow pack, and get the snow skiing season off to an early start. I mean how bad could it get?
It was great to light fires in the fireplace and bundle up in the evenings while the kids drank hot chocolate. We would listen to the sound of the thunder and the intensity of the rain as it would increase. And if it started to hail, which it did a couple of times in the beginning, we would call to each other to come and see. It was fun to see what other parts of the country and even parts of this state experience on a more regular basis.
As I chronicled in last week’s article, there were moments of inconvenience. We were using our vacation time to paint some rooms and it’s not exactly the best time to paint when it’s raining. But in the back of our minds we all assumed that this was only a momentary situation and all too soon our wet interlude would be over and the umbrellas would be back in the closet collecting dust. So I adopted the mindset of enjoying it while it was here.
But as the days turned into weeks, with minimal breaks of sun, the novelty started wearing off very quickly. The lack of sun started to have an adverse effect on my usually sunny disposition. Then the second phase started to kick in; you know, that feeling of cabin fever. Pretty soon what was once a friendly little winter visitor became my enemy and I wanted nothing to do with it any more.
In the scope of things the problems this storm created for me, over and above the psychological doldrums, were minimal. I have the very saturated falling fence that will have to wait for a drying period to be fixed and I was unable to take down my outdoor Christmas lights, which normally would have been down on January 2nd. Also the discovery that my patio roof leaks. This usually wouldn’t have been too bad had I not just put a pool table directly under the spot where the rain seems to be gravitating to. Thank god I bought that plastic cover right off the bat or it would have been disastrous. Well more annoying than disastrous.
After a while instead of waking up in the morning and hearing the sound of the rain and saying “Oh listen dear, it’s raining,” it became “Damn, is it ever going to stop?” I am sure the expletives were far more escalated in places like Malibu or Devore, where the mere mention of rain sends shutters through its residents. And that of course leads us into the other bad aspect in any prolonged visit by our wet little friend. The destruction, injury, and sometimes death.
I have been to Malibu, Devore, and Ventura County many times and they are all lovely places. Well, lovely when talking about Devore may be a bit over the top, but it’s a nice place. I do have to wonder though, is it really worth living in these places when the specter of flooding and landslides is always present? Every time a drop of rain is spotted on the Doppler these locations are the first that are mentioned as far as warnings go.
The biggest disaster to happen during our recent mini-monsoon was certainly a tragic one; the loss of 10 lives in the town of La Conchita in Ventura County. While the loss of life was truly sad I have to ask the question, why were these people still living in this area that just a decade ago had a landslide? If they are so enamored with the area why not find a spot that isn’t nestled right up against a mountain that everyone in the area knows is volatile?
Have you noticed, and this may just be me, that when we are seeing people on the news being rescued they are being rescued from a situation that they have placed themselves in? As I said, I love the rain, but I have enough common sense to respect what it can do. What kind of a dope, when hearing that we have a flash flood warning, says to himself, gee I think this would be a great time to go down to the banks of my nearest flood control channel and see what’s up?
Or how about the idiotic woman who, because she was late for work, approached an intersection where the water was so deep it almost reached the crosswalk light and thought she could drive through it. I guess she didn’t see the roofs of the other three cars that were submerged there. I don’t know what kind job she has but it’s a pretty safe guess she’s not a brain surgeon.
Now if that idiot wants to jeopardize her own safety that’s one thing, but when you threaten the safety of your kids that’s another. This brings us to the next contestant in the biggest dumbass in the rain sweepstakes. That would be the woman with her kids in the car drove around a posted roadblock and got swept away in the currents of an overflowing flood channel. She then had to be rescued, risking the lives of her rescuers as well as her children, one of which didn’t make it. As of this writing the district attorney is deciding on whether or not to press charges. I hope they do.
Because they don’t seem bright enough to figure it out on their own, I have a few rainy day tips for these folks so they can have a better rainy day experience. Move away from the foothills, check out the flood channels on a sunny day, call in sick, stay home and make the kids hot chocolate and listen to the rain. And don’t drive in it.
The Shrub Speaks: And it was hard leadin' up the Afghan elections, as you remember. There was the lot of talk about how the -- somebody was gonna get killed and they couldn't vote. . . . So, look, I know it's hard. The White House, Jan. 7, 2005
B.D.’s Response: Dubya, somehow I do not believe you understand how hard it is for anyone under the threat of death to vote.
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