Stop the waterfall

I like waterfalls. I've always thought it would be cool to have a bedroom where one entire wall was a waterfall, perpetually flowing.

Right now, I feel like I'm living underneath a waterfall. It started raining here right as Christine was leaving (is there a link?). Which is about six days ago. Six days of rain. If it's not raining, it's about to rain. I looked up in the sky tonight and thought for a split second I saw the northern lights, but it turned out to be the edge of a cloud.

So Vancouver, right now, is a study in the oatmeal-like consistency of rain-drenched piles of leaves. It's a full bus with fogged up windows and passengers trying to hold dripping umbrellas away from their pants. And then walking off the bus and opening umbrellas in synchronicity. They're like natural extensions of everyone's arms. I would love to see an aerial photo of Vancouver right now, with all of its flowing seas of multicoloured umbrellas.

You would think that in a city like Vancouver, smart people who design university grounds would know how to drain them of excess rainwater build-up. But no. On the contrary. Walking between Regent and the bus stop can require parting the Red Sea. Unfortunately, they haven't taught us how to do that in our spiritual training so far. So we get wet. As Sherri would say, pitch wet.

I'm starting to think a larger investment may have been desirable in the whole umbrella department. The structural integrity of my little maroon umbrella is lacking. Today the wind added to the rain, and twice today my umbrella blew inside out. How embarrassing. Vancouver is a study in how to hold your umbrella so that it won't blow inside out. I have much to learn.

So, I promise you, this is the last time I will write a post solely about rain in Vancouver. How utterly predictable and boring. And cliche.

My apologies.