and of those 6, only 3 have not involved rain. One year the storm was so blinding, the jam-packed Sharon Woods park evacuated right before fireworks as lightening flashed and thunder cracked directly overhead (like, you know, no time to count one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand). I've never seen such scurrying except when watching rats flee light in a subway tunnel in France. We barely got to the sanctuary of our metal cars without being electrocuted. Yes, of course Jon was in California that year. I drove half a mile and pulled over for the most torrential downpour I'd ever experienced in my southern-Californian-desert-conditions-in-the-summer life.
Last year, the rain stayed away until it was time to start the neighborhood fireworks show. The poor 14 year old who had invested his life's savings (which at that age was about $250 bucks) into the contraband from South Carolina had only set off four of the eye-blinding, smoke creating crackers when the rains got serious and wiped out the audience.
So this morning, when I'm really looking forward to the swim party at our friends' house so I can wear my much beloved, "signs of summer" tank top, I look out on a bleak grey morning, sopping wet deck chairs, beadlets of mist slicking the pavement and abundant lawn which we just mowed and will need to mow again once the sun decides to return with its usual lazer beam intensity that sucks the grass to the sky in 2 inch spurts every couple hours.
No badminton. No croquet. No swimming. Just "if it rains, we will move the party indoors." Yeah, when did we ever put that on an invitation to anything in California?
Is it any wonder people flee Ohio in the summer? Jake's in Florida. Good call.
Happy Fourth, otherwise.