I grew up in San Diego, where we didn’t really have much in the way of winter weather. January tends to be a bit rainy, and the fog can roll in so thick at night you can’t see the lines on the road ahead of you. But heavy down jackets, gloves, and hats were not something I had to endure as a child. Rainy, wet weather felt special. We got to pull umbrellas out of closets, and jump in puddles, and sometimes Dad would build a fire in the fireplace if it got cool enough at night. Wintery weather was so special that people still talk about that time it snowed on Valentine’s Day, and that was 22 years ago.
I still get a little tingle of excitement on rainy days, despite having lived in places where rain was an all too common occurrence. And I always remember one rainy day in particular. Mom met my brother and I after school, and we all walked home together in the rain. We hurried into our warm house and took off damp shoes and socks, and Mom said it was a perfect day for baking cookies. So we did, and afterwards, we cut out the new Ramona Quimby paper dolls I had won at school that day, and I played with paper dolls and munched on cookies, warm in our little house while outside, our desert city got the water it probably desperately needed.
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