–Rainer Maria Rilke
Driving my son to school, paused at the intersection of Corbin and Sherman Way, barrage of rain on the minivan, wipers working at top speed, I glanced at the DIY carwash on the corner. Lo! An SUV was in a slot, being soaped. Washing your car in a rainstorm. Only in LA?
As I left the supermarket, scrunched under my umbrella, tucked into my coat and scarf and big boots, rain a waterfall of smarting pellets—a small, 200 pound woman spilling out of her short-shorts and tanktop used her shopping cart like a scooter. Wheeeee! she cried, soaring across the parking lot, utterly drenched. Wheeee!
Driving home from Trader Joe’s, wipers about to fly off their hinges from unaccustomed use, red light at Canoga and Van Owen. Road builders! my son shouted joyfully at the mess on the corner and just as he said this a thirty-ish looking man wearing a backpack and no hat in the deluge charged an orange traffic cone. As we watched (watchers included: myself, my son, the road builders huddled miserably under their canopy, jaws slack), the man jumped the cone successfully. On he galloped, to the bustop. When I drove by him, his proud smile was still in place. I honked. My son laughed. Thunder.