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Well, the sea is kind of mud green when it rains like this, but you take my point. So Sunday night was First Flush, which is why I was so wet, and it happened before dark so we got to do a transparency test for the first time since the program started. Yeah, I'll do it again. Next time I'll not lose the second bacteria bottle.
So now it's raining hard, and it's been raining hard since last night, and it's going to rain for days probably. The newspaper says to be prepared for a long stretch of not nice, interrupted by periods of miserable. But I don't feel that way about it, though I'm, glad I have a house to stay in. Emma was giggling on the way to school. I don't know if she gets that rainstorm thrill I get, or if she was just pleased to have an excuse to carry her spiffy umbrella.
My garden is glad of the rain: I get bored with watering around September, which is when it's most needed.
Apparently, the University students have developed a First Rain tradition since my time involving running naked from one end of the campus to the other during the, well, first rain of the season. The colleges have required that they not run into the dining halls naked. As traditions go, it's pretty cool -- just enough out there for the students to feel a little daring, and yet not actually harmful in any way. Or even, really, disruptive: nobody cares about a bunch of 17-to-22 year olds running naked through the woods (the campus is heavily wooded between the colleges and the research/clasroom/administration clusters). At least nobody ought to. I don't know whether they did this during the first sprinkle that had us wondering last week, or the second sprinkle that had us staying up all night Saturday, or during the first real rain Sunday afternoon, or what. I don't keep tabs, though I expect I will eventually hear about it if anything amusing happened to catch the attention of my kids' friends.
When I was at the University, the school was pretty well new. It was opened in 1965, the nice fellow came in 1968, I came in 1970. We didn't have traditions. Everything we did might as well be for the first time. The paths through the woods from college to college were not even paved and lighted all the way yet. So if you stayed very late at somebody's dorm room, you might as well spend the night -- though what I recall is actually picking my way through the forest, my ears pricked up and my spine all tense. Governor Reagan, he who became the world's first sleeping president, called our campus a cross between a hippy pad and a whorehouse. We were proud of having been insulted by such a fool, and proud of the fact that we looked outrageous to some people, but really we were just students like any other students.
Ack. I've done nothing yet.
So now it's raining hard, and it's been raining hard since last night, and it's going to rain for days probably. The newspaper says to be prepared for a long stretch of not nice, interrupted by periods of miserable. But I don't feel that way about it, though I'm, glad I have a house to stay in. Emma was giggling on the way to school. I don't know if she gets that rainstorm thrill I get, or if she was just pleased to have an excuse to carry her spiffy umbrella.
My garden is glad of the rain: I get bored with watering around September, which is when it's most needed.
Apparently, the University students have developed a First Rain tradition since my time involving running naked from one end of the campus to the other during the, well, first rain of the season. The colleges have required that they not run into the dining halls naked. As traditions go, it's pretty cool -- just enough out there for the students to feel a little daring, and yet not actually harmful in any way. Or even, really, disruptive: nobody cares about a bunch of 17-to-22 year olds running naked through the woods (the campus is heavily wooded between the colleges and the research/clasroom/administration clusters). At least nobody ought to. I don't know whether they did this during the first sprinkle that had us wondering last week, or the second sprinkle that had us staying up all night Saturday, or during the first real rain Sunday afternoon, or what. I don't keep tabs, though I expect I will eventually hear about it if anything amusing happened to catch the attention of my kids' friends.
When I was at the University, the school was pretty well new. It was opened in 1965, the nice fellow came in 1968, I came in 1970. We didn't have traditions. Everything we did might as well be for the first time. The paths through the woods from college to college were not even paved and lighted all the way yet. So if you stayed very late at somebody's dorm room, you might as well spend the night -- though what I recall is actually picking my way through the forest, my ears pricked up and my spine all tense. Governor Reagan, he who became the world's first sleeping president, called our campus a cross between a hippy pad and a whorehouse. We were proud of having been insulted by such a fool, and proud of the fact that we looked outrageous to some people, but really we were just students like any other students.
Ack. I've done nothing yet.
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