In my never ending effort to become the neighborhood curmudgeon I often times insert gripes and complaints over some of those things over which I have no control. To make those complaints sort of semi-official I insert them in this space thereby giving them a status of ex-officio or some other lofty Latin appellation. It would appear that by giving them some type of order they might make life a bit more bearable. It, of course, never happens.
An example of this is my aversion to chilly weather. In the winter time I get cold. But then so does everyone else. So why complain? Put on an extra sweater and take solace in the fact that before too long winter will be history and the days will be warmer and, as a result, much more pleasant. Such a situation is so much out of our hands that we seldom mention them. I am, however, referring more to those days that we call May Gray, or June Gloom. I am cold in those periods simply because we have no sunshine. If we do it is of that pasty, white, the kind that Hoagy Carmichael used to call Buttermilk Sky. This is enough to make anyone roll over and go back to bed. Things used to get so bad that we would sometimes grab a few things, get in the car and head east, looking for sunshine.
This comes to mind because the other day we had another search and this one had nothing to do with my being a curmudgeon. We went looking for rain. We heard about all those rainstorms to the east of us and wondered why we could not have a bit here. And if we could not have any let us get to some place where we could see some. And I had the perfect situation to make such a journey possible.
Son David had dropped in on one of his periodic visits. Not only that but he arrived here in one of those SUV’s that he generally rents, a vehicle that could almost ferret out those rain rich clouds, the very thing for which we wished.
So we started out on our quest, me looking out the windows for some promising clouds and David looking into the telephone instrument he carries, watching the Doppler screen for some of those things that can predict rain before it hits your windshield.
Our original thoughts were that the rain, if there was some out there, would be in some of the South County back country. So we headed in the direction of Jamul, passing it up and then continuing east. It was as dry as yesterday’s soup bone. On reaching SR 94 we opted for the north direction, that is, toward Alpine rather than Campo. The clouds to the east of us seemed to be darker, the nimbus type, and from my Navy training more likely to hold moisture than the white cumulus. I must have read the wrong text book because instead of rain we got sunshine, something we could have had if we had stayed home.
We wended our way northward until we got on the Sunshine Highway and make our quest through the Lagunas. Rain or not I did not mind this since this area brings back many pleasant memories. We went through the camp sites and we recalled excursions there in earlier times particularly those when Zula and I used to go camping after the kids had flown the coop. We spent many a day in this area doing our version of “roughing it.”
We arrived at the crossroads and opted to go south through the Cuyamacas. But the sign that said “Julian 6 miles” was too enticing. That near to the place so why not a side trip for a bit of apple pie. We sated our appetite and then headed for the Cuyamacas and then home, ending a pleasant excursion even if we failed to find the elusive rain storms.
We returned home in time for the evening news. The top weather news was that a flash flood warning had been issued for the Alpine area of East County. Now they tell us.