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I love rain.  I’m known to be obnoxiously chirpy whenever it is raining.  Tasmania has been in drought for more years than I can recall — somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 years.  In any case, the rare rainy day has always been an occasion for rejoicing.  But things are different this winter.  It may be too soon to say the drought has broken — I’m not sure one season would qualify — but let’s just say we’ve had more rainy days (and nights) than I’ve had hot dinners. 

I’m not saying that I’m growing tired of the rain.  Dear me, no.  But after several months of almost constant rain,  I am beginning to become aware of some of the less attractive aspects of it.  Mud, for example.  Cold, wet wind.  Puddles everywhere.  And cold, wet wind. Shoes and coats that don’t dry out before you need them again.   I’m not saying I’m tired of these things.  Of course not.  I’m just  . . . noticing them.  I wouldn’t dream of complaining.

I think it is helping me to become a better person.   A more sensitive person.  For example, at the grocery store today, when my incredibly witty remark to the check-out clerk, “Think it’ll rain?” resulted in the woman behind me bursting into sobs because her brand new driveway had washed down the road a couple blocks, I noticed it immediately  and stopped trying to be cheerful about it.  I think it may have become politically incorrect to mention the rain in any sort of positive way here in Tasmania.  Whatever will we talk about now?         MM

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