Remember those stormy photos I showed you last post? If I'd been home yesterday, I could have taken even more dramatic ones, although I think much of the action happened in the evening, too dark for my camera. In fact, it was so stormy that dark became even darker as my little island lost power completely for several hours.
But I wasn't home, so I didn't get to snuggle up to my wood stove, heating soup over the fire, reading my book by flickering candlelight, digging out the heavier duvet to snuggle away from the wind's chilling howl. Instead, I tried my sea legs over a rough ferry crossing to Vancouver. My sister is hosting a gathering of siblings and our partners on Saturday, and I was also able to arrange an almost complete gathering of mine and Pater's growing clan tonight (we're trying a new-to-us dosa restaurant, will try to report later). Yes, I do have three sets of essays to mark, but I'll have some lovely family visits squeezed between to make me believe it's not all work and no play. . .
If I'd been home, and foolish enough to have gone out in that stormy wet weather, I might have worn my new Hunter boots (unbelievably, on sale for $50, new but returned by a customer who'd worn them and then changed her mind. Generous store return policy worked to my benefit, definitely!) with my old Burberry trench (also acquired on sale, years ago). Honestly, I'm not convinced the Polished finish and the Brick colour work with the metallic of the coat, but sometimes Needs Must, and this combo is pretty storm-worthy...
Makes me think of A.A. Milne's charming poem that my mother had me memorize decades and decades ago. Do you know it?
John had great big waterproof boots on
John had a great big waterproof hat
John had a great big waterproof mackintosh
And that, said John, is that.
I have, sadly, failed to reproduce the way this delightful verse wends its way down a page, the line breaks much more interesting than I've indicated, especially as originally decorated by Ernest Shepard's whimsical illustrations. But I won't forget to give you the title of the poem, although I'm tempted to make you guess it first --or to ask how many were lucky enough to already have learned it, from some thoughtful parent or teacher or grandparent. Would you guess "Happiness"? And isn't that a splendid title, a wonderful claim, a magical equation? To be well dressed for rain, happiness indeed!