One can find so many pains when the rain is falling. — John Steinbeck
A rainy day can be a blessing if you’re home with good tea, a good book or movie, or good company. However, city life doesn’t brake for rain. And going out in it reveals either a similarity or a difference between Frisko and Ellay.
A rainy day in San Francisco is the sloppiest thing in the world. The wind triumphs over gravity, sending the falling water in all directions and turning an umbrella into a wrestling opponent. In the cold and wet, the bus can arrive later. And more packed. With people extending wet umbrellas. To drip on you instead of them. Paper shopping bags shred, train station floors slicken, it’s just a mess.
In Los Angeles, one might conclude that all those people really believe it never rains in California. A few drops, and the fearful drop to 35 mph on the freeway, while the flying clueless maintain top speed in a deluge and court hydroplaning. It’s a ride like Disneyland never dreamed of. If your destination has no sheltered parking, you have to dodge those people in the mad dash across the parking lot. But at least you don’t have to wait in the rain before getting into your conveyance, and you have a seat and a dry place to put your things.
It’s raining on Christmas Eve eve. Perhaps some Midwestern transplants would like to convene on the Polo Grounds in Golden Gate Park to build a rain fort and have a rainball fight. Not me. I shall stay home and have tea.
Of course, California isn’t the whole country: http://linesandstanzas.wordpress.com/2012/12/23/ohio-river-valley-spring/