The Old Man Is Snoring

I've always loved the rain. But one has no idea just how much she loves the rain until being deprived of it for months and being subjected to 100 degree weather for weeks on end. This place has apparently had 1/2 inch of rain recorded in the past 6 months. Crazy.

It's raining. This is the second time it's rained since we moved here in March. And it's really raining--lightning, thunder, downpour and all. I know, I shouldn't get used to it, but boy do I love that sound! Makes me want to go wander around in it. I hope it lasts all day. All week even. I think I'd be happy for a month of it! I know what you're thinking--but I'm serious. Rain makes me happy. It's one of the reasons I loved living in Seattle. I didn't get tired of that rain, I don't think a month of it here could depress me. But that is all wishful thinking anyway. I think we're back to 100 and no rain later in the week. But I'll take it right now.

Interpretation

I'm seeking an interpretation of my dream:

I step outside my house only to discover that there are several mountain lions (and some sort of cow or sheep that looks suspiciously like a lion with horns) hanging out on my roof. I yell at the kids to come inside before they get eaten and don't notice that the kitten has slipped outside. I realize this just as I see the kitty climb up onto the edge of the roof and the hungry mountain lions take notice. I open the door and yell for the kitty to come inside. She begins to, but it is a race against time as the lions close in on her. I wonder if I do manage to get her inside, just how I'll keep the lions out. When suddenly a lion grabs her and eats her while I slam the door and watch out the window in horror.

Any takers?

Mortal Enemies

Let's call it what it is. We hate each other. I hate them, they hate me--all of 'em. We're all aware of this so let's just put it out there. It's a conspiracy I think. I'm pretty sure the lawnmower, the trimmer and the edger shimmy closer together in the garage every time I come out there, whispering. Plotting. Which one of them is going to give in just enough to let me think perhaps I've made some progress in this relationship, only to have the rest of them up and rebel at once--one refusing completely to start, the other floods and then while I'm not looking, the lawn mower takes off ahead, pulling me towards that awful ankle turning hole in the back yard and suddenly I'm on my back behind the mower, my hand still on the lever--the thing is still running and I'm lying there thinking "If I let go, I'll just have to start the damn thing again with that stupid pull cord and finish the rest of the yard." I contemplate what kinds of further injuries I might incur should I try and get up while keeping the beast running and I decide it is probably in my best interest to let the thing die. I lie there in the 100 degree sun in silence, trying to decide how bad the damage is to my ankle. And the faint snickering in the garage lets me know that they've won again.

I really hate yard work. Especially when it's a hundred degrees outside.