Rain tends to bring out the bipolar in every group.
The classic example is the pastor who prays that it will not rain for the church picnic and the farmer who prays for rain to spare his crops. Something similar is happening now here on the Mexican Pacific coast.
We have had two rainstorms lately -- none directly associated with Tropical Storm/Hurricane Pamela (blowing in the wind). The first was a heavy downpour last Saturday. Today we had another, but of entirely a different kind. One of those rains that the Irish like to call "soft." Where I come from, we call it Willamette Valley Drizzle. (The Irish are far more poetic.)
Whatever we call it, there are a lot of recently-arrived northern tourists who are not very happy that their multi-month stay on the Costalegre is starting out with the same weather they left behind in Vancouver. "Same weather" if you add in about 20 extra degrees and several more percentage points of humidity.
Our local Facebook pages are filled with wails that enough is enough. I understand the sentiment. But I am not fully in accord with it.
My Mexican neighbors have a different view of the summer rains. Often, the rain is the only thing that drives down the combined heat and temperature to guarantee a pleasant night's sleep. Usually, for just one night. Because the rain that falls soon evaporates into the air to once again bring the humidity up to level of a golden retriever's IQ.
Both kids and adults' can be seen frolicking in the street when the rains start to fall. It is an appreciated blessing.
Like them, I will take as many rainy days in the summer as we can get. It is still just barely warm enough that the rain days are also relief days.
That will soon change. In a few weeks, the rains will stop in main part until summer rolls around again. During that time the surrounding hills will steadily grow that odd shade of brownish-gray, somewhere between taupe and ecru, that sets in around April.
Having said that, I am about to don my Quisling disguise and switch sides. After a summer of pulling out the squeegee and broom to combat the puddles that accumulate on the upper terrace, I would just as soon have a few dry months to enjoy my walking track without having to dodge the accumulated water.
Sure, it is a selfish reason. Especially after I have spent the summer praising the rain for its relief. But no one ever even insinuated that preferring dry to rain required me to use my moral agent principles. As Winston Churchill famously said: "It's just weather."
Sign me up for the I-would-prefer-it-to-be-dry party. For now. I will soon be praying for rain in another few months. Not like the farmer, but for the sake of all of us who live our summers here.
Because as the nursey rhyme goes, I may wish the rain away for now -- knowing fully well that it will come again some other day.
Probably in mid-June.