Sunday, June 30, 2013

pluvial notes

Grandma was like that, she did things her own way, and had raised all of us to do things our own way, too, but everyone thought it was a bit much to be so dramatic at the end. But maybe she had an in with god, or something, because the rains stopped right after her funeral. It had been a few years since we had had a proper hurricane-strength gale with flash floods, sump pumps running all night in the basement, and the rainy springs were drier, just a bit, but no one really believed that there would never be rain again. Well, no one but wackos and meteorologists and maybe some of my family members, possibly including grandma.

The city sent out notices about the aquifer levels and asked that lawns be watered and cars washed on an alternating schedule depending on address, but since no one could remember if Tuesdays were odd and Thursdays even and Saturdays for everyone, or if it was all exactly the opposite, people watered their lawns and washed their cars whenever they felt like it. The police couldn't be expected to enforce car washing municipal recommendations, and they never even tried. The last rainfall in our area was during the night, right before grandma's funeral, but we had always been a dusty type of town, and so no one really noticed at first. They had to cancel the Fourth of July fireworks, everything was too dry, and the police really did go around enforcing no-firecrackers no-bonfire rules, but there were still swimming pools and beer, so no one was too put out.

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I'm working through a backlog of typing going back five months. It's been that type of spring. Progress is being made.