I have run out of headline ideas to express the fact that liquid moisture is falling from the sky and I am sick of it. I don’t know any creative way of expressing that God has chosen yet again to water my grass, because frankly my grass is not grass, but puddles of mud. My grass died weeks ago. It drowned. That is where it didn’t grow waist high, where Hubby hasn’t had a dry day to cut it. The Bermuda in the front is dead from being drowned. The Fescue in the back is so high you could lose a small cow in it. There is no way it’s going to get cut anytime soon except with a lively lead, because a mower would sink into the mud. So we have this lovely hodge podge of grass in our yard. Thankfully we also have a privacy fence.
And neighbors in the same boat.
On my Facebook page it used to be “Oh, it’s raining again, YUCK…” Now people remark “What is that wet stuff falling from the sky?” We try and pretend we haven’t noticed that even when it’s not raining, the “pretty days” are so gloomy, that it might as well be raining, and that’s been the forecast for so long now that we feel like we’ve moved to London. This is the Deep South. We are the Sunny, Humid people. You know the ones everyone else visits on vacation. Not the ones that look for places to go on vacation. We sit by our own pools and drink sweet tea, not look for indoor hotels to take vacations to in JULY. I’m not worried about global warming, I’m worried about global wetting. I’m drowning here, and it’s October. The rainy season is starting. My patience is waning with the weather and the bad weather season hasn’t even begun, that is if you are looking at a calendar. If you look out my back door, you ask when I bought a house by the lake.
On the good front, I did get some pictures scanned yesterday and did a little genealogy. In between the rain and allergy medicine induced naps. At least this cave dweller sleeps well when it rains.