After December's ice storm I thought I could handle anything. I knew January would be ugly, and, in fact, when one of my friends told me that March was the worst month because of the mud, I girded my loins.
I moved to The Woods to live on a lake, and I just kept telling myself, "It will all be worth it in June. Just hold on 'til June. The sun will come out in June."
I figure I can quote myself because I tend to talk to myself out loud.
But then the sun didn't come out in June. It stayed gray and rainy as hell. I told myself, "We didn't get here 'til June 15, so maybe that's when it'll be sunny." Nope. Maybe Summer Solstice. Nada. Ok, then, July 1.
I am nothing if not optimistic, but July 1 came, and it was all misery out there. I spent the afternoon cursing the rain with the FMF, who is usually good for a New England pep talk, but she was just as bitter as I. However, she did make me a fabulous chicken parmesan for lunch, so I'm not complaining.
We finally got some of that finally gold, shiny stuff on Independence Day, and we could even feel it some between the 20-mile-an-hour gusts of wind. Luckily, the wind mellowed at sunset and we saw some amazing fireworks over the lake. Even Buckaroo was mesmerized, although he insisted that I cover his ears.
Today, though, was heaven. This morning I was half in that dream place, and I thought, the sun is playing dodge ball with the clouds. I could tell by the way the light and shadows shifted through the window.
We had a yummy brunch at the Harley House with Frog Mama and friends, and sat on the patio surrounded by climbing flowers of all varieties. At home we took Bella for her much needed sojourn around the neighborhood and then made sand castles on the beach with Buckaroo.
R caught a frog in a sand bucket, and then a tiny pickerel. Buckaroo was gleeful about helping them swim away.
Later, R grilled burgers, and I ate mine with goat cheese-- I'm having a bit of a love affair with the goaty stuff, and R seems to be ok with it-- we watched the sun set on the water and took an evening boat ride, once around slow, twice around fast. That seems to be our new routine.
A nearly perfect day-- but, man, it was a long, long time coming.
If nothing else, this weather has taught me to appreciate every sweet drop of sunshine. I don't think I'll ever spend a sunny day scrubbing dishes again.