As per Janathon, I ran 2 miles today. Last night, it rained. The wind blew. We got flood watch notices on our smartphones. An inch of rain a day keeps the rivers overflowing.
So this morning, I wondered if I should run on the treadmill instead. Thus my constant debate in the winter time – outside vs. treadmill. But I wanted to go outside and have fun. I started walking down our gravel street. Everything was damp but it wasn’t drizzling. Then, the drizzle. I laughed. Here we go! But it didn’t go. The rain stopped. I found, bizarre but true, a break in the weather. Which was good, because I only had 2 miles in the tank after yesterday.
Now, it’s pouring. The wind shoves the trees around like a rude guest. Occasionally, hail hammers Pepper-car. Rain funnels from the sky like a thousand silver coins, a soggy jackpot.
We picked Ruby up from a sleepover this morning. While driving home through the wet, windy 10:30 a.m. twilight, I heard a buzz. My phone provided another update. Good news! The area flood watch was over: “The storm front bringing Rain has moved east to the Cascades. The flood watch has ended.” Um, I beg to differ. The “Rain” remains, and not even on the plain. Just…everywhere. To paraphrase the police officer closing the highway from Groundhog Day, “You got that wet stuff falling on yer head, buddy!” Hard to ignore what’s right in front of you.
But we do it, every day. We see what we want to see. Phil Connors of Groundhog Day predicted the snow to hit east of Punxsutawney. It didn’t comply. What if our life circumstances provide the same trouble, not getting in line with our plans?
A few hours ago, Zac and I heard this horrible, guttural growling this morning.
I rushed to the kitchen. Rex, tiny black paws up on the back door, saw something disgusting in the carport. Rita. He voiced his frustration with the whale song of animosity.
Rita, caught in the act yet a picture of innocence, skittered away. I opened the door for Rex, who was about to sprout opposable thumbs in his rush to get out. Rex rushed around the corner. They continued their “discussion” about trespassing and property rights for some time. Then, the time for talking ended.
I went out the back door for my run. I didn’t see any cats. All quiet on the home front. I turned left down the driveway and Rex appeared. I almost didn’t recognize him. His fur stood up all over, especially in a ridge on his back. He resembled a large rat or an armadillo, not his usual sleek self. Little tufts of hair stood out here and there, yanked free by Rita, no doubt. His fur nearly dripped water. I let him inside before I left. He stepped in without his usual trot.
Rex didn’t ignore what – or whom – was right in front of him. Rex didn’t lie down and lick Rita’s face. No bottom-sniffing of greeting here. Oh no. Rita persists as Rex’s nemesis. He took action. Rex chased the scallywag out of the yard. Rita doesn’t belong here.
So what doesn’t belong in your life? What are you glossing over in order to keep your version of reality intact?