The big news in LA is that it has finally rained. And rained again. And more rain is predicted soon. Everyone except for the dogs and the outdoor cats are finally exhaling in relief. People are thanking God it is finally raining. Though gratitude doesn’t seem to have affected the streets. Motorists all over town are furious. The rage is palpable, the traffic is outrageous and people are honking, slamming on the brakes blocking the intersections. Nobody here puts a head out the window and yells, “fuck you!” like they do in New York or New Jersey. LA, the spiritual capital of road rage, is home of the concealed weapon under the seat.
Nevertheless, the rain is fabulous. It’s a religious event. Though the drought is by no means over, things are feeling a lot more optimistic around here. Yay! One can flush the toilet with impunity. Yay! Take a guilt-free bath for heaven’s sake! Lately, I’ve been using the water that’s left in back of the fake espresso machine I love so much and watering the cactus outside. Or just dumping it around, everything’s been so parched. We were in this sort of dry hell. And yes, I think hell is a dry, fiery place (unless hell is a watery water-boarding somewhere ).
Yes, climate torture seems to be over for a while here. Or at least temporarily abated. I’ve been conferring with the honey man at the green market since the drought started, and he told me recently if it didn’t rain this winter it would be over for his bees. I can’t wait for Saturday so we can thank God together. Maybe best of all, we haven’t had a Santa Ana in two whole weeks. The wind is cool. The sky is clean. When you drive East you can see the mountains, now beginning to be snow-peaked, instead of a grey mass of smog that just sits there obscuring earth and sky.
Twice this week, I haven’t worn sunscreen. Or sunglasses. And a hat. It’s cool enough for layers. The down comforter is on the bed and the thin summer blankets finally folded and away. The men at the nursery around the corner are wearing bright yellow suits and they smile and wave when we walk past them in the rain, Henry and I.
Since our neighborhood is Little Osaka, a lot of the dogs are wearing fashionable raincoats. In fact, my neighbor Nomi admonished me when she saw that I let Henry go out without a coat and offered to lend me one of her Shih Tzu’s many coats. I can only imagine what Henry would do if I tried to dress him up in a raincoat.
It’s Hanukah. It’s almost Christmas and yes, this rain is the best present anyone who lives in the desert could want. Thank You God, Thank You Goddess, Thank You Jesus, Thank You Judah Maccabee, Mother Nature, Father Sky and all the powers that be.
Gotterdammerung…..not quite yet.
Mary Marcus is the author of The New Me.