Traitor

I had the chance to be reminded of my watery roots this morning.  We woke up to the dim light of an overcast morning sky and the sound of a constant drizzle on the windows.  Now growing up in the good ol' PNW, this was a normal occurrence eight months out of the year.  Since this weather is so rare here in Idaho, I actually enjoyed the dreariness of it all.  That is, only because I know that tomorrow or the next day will be clear blue skies, and I haven't even checked the weather report.

On our way out the driveway to church, I realized I had forgotten to grab the Sunday paper.  As I scurried outside, squinty-eyed and all hunched over, I heard Tim say, "Geez, remember where you're from.  You act like you've never seen rain before."

Then it hit me, I had become what I had always made fun of.  A drizzle-phobic.  A rain hater.

In Seattle, you can always tell who is from out of town, because they are carrying the umbrellas.  Before I entered my freshman year at Western in Bellingham, I made sure I had a really good raincoat. It had an aerodynamic hood.  You know, the ones that when you tighten all the strings, all you can see is a gortex mummy, with two beady eyes poking out.  I remember scoffing at all the obvious out-of-staters, who actually thought an umbrella would keep them from getting wet.  The rain blows horizontal in Bellingham. You're going to get wet, you just have to know how to minimize the soppiness effect.

The rain continued all day and it was glorious.  I had to venture out to grocery shop in the afternoon with the boys in tow.  As they hopped out of the van, they were tugging at my hands and begging me to run as fast as we could to the store.

But I didn't.

Because I'm from Western Washington.

"It's no big deal guys."

And I walked into that store with a slow swaggering step, my eyes wide open and my head held high.  Rain? Yes, I know who you are.