Mother Nature and PG&E have conspired to remind me to slow down. OK, well, not just me. Everyone in the general vicinity. I'm not that amazingly arrogant that I think this whole storm is for my personal benefit.
All of a sudden, someone remembered that "hey, we haven't yet really kicked any meteorological butt this season." And so the butt-kicking is underway, my neighborhood is in brown-out mode, and the puddles are nearing rhino-drowning depth. Still, silly me, I'm contemplating the ultimate Clash question: Should I stay or should I go? Out into the wild world of weather and errands, that is.
Cabin fever has hit. It doesn't take long with me. I've been known to rake leaves in the rain. Or hike. Or just stand on the porch to listen to and smell the rain.
I'm not such a grand fan of wind. The wind is playing with trees and such at full power, a local reminder that there's only so much peeps can do to control things. It's cleaning out the dead branches and leaves from a lot of trees and, unfortunately, toppling others. And that toppling reminds me of several topplings from past years that force me to point my wary eye the 30+ foot trees near my house. (I won't tell you which eye is the wary one -- top secret.) trees over 20 feet It's washing the rocks, streets, and walls. And at my house, flooding the garage, uprooting plants, and annoying the dog.
The wind and rain are not fans of UPS delivery services. I felt like yelling across the yard "Just come back next spring. Really, it's fine!" as the guy was coming up the driveway in a sideways downpour. My driveway barely more than a car length, yet the boxes were spongy with rainwater just from the trip from truck.