There's a song called "It Will Rain" by Bruno Mars. It's a fun song, probably most popular amongst those who watched the Twilight movie "Breaking Dawn" part 1. I know. Dorky. And it's actually about the loss of love, albeit imagined and probably justified, but it sort of became our anthem for other reasons.
When the summer ended, it started to rain. Knowing we were in for the long haul of a wet, dreary winter, it seemed funny to have the words literally in a song, you know, no clear skies, clouds overhead, etc. I'd play it whenever the children got annoyed about yet another rainy day. In fact, we probably listened to it every day for a while. But, no big surprise here, it got old. Along with all of the constant rain and drizzle.
Honestly. It. Never. Ends. Even native Portlanders are getting ancy with the gloomy drizzle. I have to admit that there have been some beautiful stand-out days but we could count them on one hand, maybe two.
There are upsides to this kind of temperate weather. I feel like I'm being preserved in this humid, chilly weather, sort of like a tomato. And for the most part, I would say Portlanders look young with healthy skin.
The other perk is that the lush greenery is gorgeous. I never stop being amazed. When I drive up Marquam Hill to pick up my husband, I have to drag my eyes back to the windy, twisty, ascending road instead of drinking in the verdant ferns that grow all over the trees, hanging from forking branches. It's sooo beautiful.
Please forgive these first two blurry photos. They were taken with my cell phone while driving along this aforementioned twisty road. But the trees always look this green. Portland is never not green, not even in the dead of winter.
If you look at this blurry tree on the right, you can sort of see the furry ferns growing all over the tree.
Even the cement lane barriers on the highway are green with moss. Even the driveways are green with moss! These two photos were taken at the Rose Garden.
These next photos were taken right outside our apartment. These are the sights that greet me whenever I'm standing waiting for Hairy Winston to finish his dog business.
I don't know if you can see in the photo that there is a second, silvery sage kind of moss. Or is it lichen? It looks like lichen but grows like a moss. It hangs all over the branches in place of leaves. After the trees lost their leaves in October, they were bare for only about a week before they became green again. It's been fun to be surrounded by the color of wealth and vitality!
The trees are budding and getting ready to jump into spring. I can't wait!
So even though we don't enjoy the perpetual rain, it brings some wonderful surprises if we open our eyes. At this stage of my life, it symbolizes the things that I just can't change. We're in a particular position where we are at the mercy of circumstance, fate, the guidance of our Heavenly Father...a mixture of them. We just can't change or alter them, no matter how hard we work at it. We have to be still and accept the things that are for what they are.
My daughter's teacher gave me a story she wrote at school called "Kintins and Mintins Meet the Snake". It's an odd, dark story about some mice parents, Belly and Jake, who lose their babies, Kintins and Mintins, to a venomous snake but revive them after their burial using magic. <hmmm> At the end of her story, she wrote a sort of "about the author" page on herself and it made me tear up to read how insightful she was in seeing herself for who she is.
My name is [edited]. I crie when I leve family. I like having playdats. I like benging warm or cool. I like the sun. I like day instid of night. I like my family. I like nacher [nature] and animals. I like flowers and grass. That's my sillf.
My sweet daughter is showing me wisdom. There can be calm acceptance of things that are true for no other reason than that they exist. And the whole of a thing might be as simple as its individual parts, yet somehow greater when it is all put together.
Here is a truth just as evident as the rain: children are beautiful miracles.