In case you have ever wondered, a “historic rain” looks just like regular rain except that there’s more of it. Much, much more.
The official report is that we’ve had 22.54 inches of rain this week. We needed rain, but spread over the past couple of months would have been our first choice. In the previous three weeks we’d had a total of .19 inches.
Do you think the whole rain was historic, or just the last 3.54 inches, which was the amount over Hurricane Floyd’s 19 inch record? Floyd’s damage was much, much worse because he blew in at 130 mph on the heels of another storm–Dennis, in case you’re taking notes. This week’s storm wasn’t even a hurricane and came during a dry spell, so the ground wasn’t already saturated as it had been before Floyd.
Here at the beach-house-not-on-the beach, I made chili and vegetable soup. Reading and knitting, my favorite activities, are especially great rainy day activities. Dearly Beloved–Mr. Must-Have-Exercise-Or-I-Become Restless contracted remotemyalgia from switching back and forth between any sports he could find and CNBC. Miss Piggy dozed, as usual, except during thunder and lightning when she hid in the pantry. We gave her the anxiety meds she hasn’t needed in a while.
Since that dog will not even walk on dew, the historic rain did not sit well with her. Her rule of paw is that she does not want to do anything that humans don’t do (eating dog poop being her exception) so she feigned sleep whenever we tried to coax her outside to do her business in the rain.
She had to be bribed, meaning we had to stand at the open door and get wet while she reluctantly tiptoed out for a quick squat. She wanted a witness so we’d know that she deserved a treat for her efforts.
Once, Dearly Beloved let her go through the garage and out into the front yard, thinking she might prefer that so she wouldn’t have to walk across the deck to get to a spot. He stood at the open garage door and watched incredulously as the little psycho went flying out into the stormy night to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac where she stood on their porch and barked until they opened the door. She ran inside, ate all the food in the cat food bowl, then dashed back home with a dog biscuit dessert in her mouth.
Wet dog smell, cat food breath, and dog flatulence made air freshening the impossible dream.
About 6 PM, the power went out on our street. Now that gets old fast. BUT, the power company was so efficient at getting it repaired that it was back on even before their automated call updated us with news that it would be on by 9:30. After that, a second automated call advised us that the outage was due to damaged equipment. I translated that to mean “wires got wet.”
This morning I learned what that meant. This sign is in our front yard.
As usual, whenever there is any unusual activity on our street, the residents gather in the cul-de-sac to talk about it. When I went outside to see what was going on, there were two utility trucks and several power company employees talking with Dearly Beloved and the neighbors.
(That, incidentally, is when I realized that the clock next to the bed hadn’t been set back to reflect last night’s power outage and that when I rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking it was only 6:30 AM, it wasn’t. I had a historic sleep.)
The utility guys have told us we have about an hour before they have to cut the power off. The supervisor told me that would allow me plenty of time to don my work clothes to help them. Ah, Southern humor.
That call last night had defined the problem. Here is Damaged Equipment, Exhibit A:
The neighbors on either side of us are widows in their 80’s. When informed that we’d be without power while they were replacing the box, one said, predictably, “I can’t live like this! Why is this happening to me? I’m moving back to California!”
No joke. Those are her exact words.
The other neighbor, who is 86, clapped her hands and said, “Oh good, I LOVE new things, even if I’m not!”
Too bad the shrink on the corner has retired. He could write a book.
I was betting they’d open that box and find a half-built squirrel’s nest. They were more concerned about finding snakes. It happens. What they found was a box full of water. They’re replacing it.
Riddle: After 22.54 inches of rain, leaving the sandy soil spongy, squishy, and soggy, what does it take to get golfers back on the course?
The answer: Daylight.
Here is a link to more pictures of the historic rain. The first group looks like scenes from Deliverance. I’m not sure why. The second group is from September 30. Neither will embed for me–perhaps they’re waterlogged–but I think you’ll be able to click onto the slideshow once you cut and paste.