Day 8: Dreaming up the Rain Dial

Wanting to go out and play

The uninvited cold edged its way through the cracks of my door, tippy-toed across the wooden floors to the foot of my bed, snuck in under the covers, despite my vehement shooing and stayed there. Silver chains of rain beads made links across my window glass and fancifully displayed themselves as if awaiting my selection. Deep sigh. Plans for a walk through Hyde Park thwarted again by thoughts of soggy pant legs, damp hair and an unprotected camera lens. Best to find an indoor plan instead, I thought. As I lay in bed dreaming up four-walled adventures for the day, I realized this wasn’t really bad rain so much as it was cozy rain. This was the kind of rain that made you want to stay in bed a little longer, curl up with a good Netflix stream, sip hot, sugary, libations in oversized coffee mugs and wear fuzzy slippers kind of rain. This was built-in-excuse for complacency kind of rain. I liked this rain.

The Backyard

Doesn't it ever stop?

You wouldn’t think it, but there are many different kinds of rain in London. Sure, it’s all the same water falling from the sky, but it’s how it falls that makes the difference. I think the great British novelist knew this and classified the rain to their advantage. They used the rain to “set the stage” for some of the greatest literary scenes ever written. I further think that some of the greatest literature ever written came from here precisely because of the rain. I mean afterall, what else was there to do but write. Decent North Face jackets were hard to come by in those days, so rather than weather the cold in wardrobe that looked like it came off the set of Les Miserables, you stayed at home and you wrote. And you wrote about the rain.
Take Jane Austen. She dialed the rain to “passionate release” when Darcy finally professes his love to Elizabeth Benet in Pride and Prejudice. Emily Bronte turned it to “heart-wrenching downpour” when Catherine seeks Heathcliff on the moors of Wuthering Heights, Shakespeare to “ominous thunder” the night Macbeth kills Banquo, Dickens to “steady sinister ” when Ebenezer Scrooge enters scene and Conan Doyle to “mysterious-drizzle” when the Hounds of the Baskervilles are heard. These writers knew how to order up the rain just the way they wanted it whenever they wanted it. I wish I could do that. Though if I had to choose the rain today I think I’d dial the one right now: “cozy-comfort.” And the scene would be: “Then she goes back to bed for a few more hours.” And that’s exactly what I did.