Well, lookin’ like I won’t be submerging my hands* in greasy scalding water on a regular basis again just yet!
*preferably in thick industrial rubber gloves
But! There’s always tomorrow! And the day after that and the day after that …
Last week I interviewed for a dishwashing position in the kitchen of an exclusive golf course. The facility’s recently changed hands — speaking of dishwashing — and under considerable reconstruction … construction-workers-here-and-there-and dust-everywhere setting. I’ve not heard back so presume it’s a no-go.
I’ll refrain from my tirade born of anguish, pain, disappointment, fear and frustration at the possibility of another Lame Crap Job (menial job at minimum wage) in which I have zero interest, one with no future or food to build a foundation for my life.
I’ve expressed it a thousand times already. Today I’m simply in no mood for the repetition or re-enactment of banging my head against that bunker wall.
I attribute my refusal to do so to the rain.
Today, you see, we here in central Arizona (and other areas of the state) are witness to a rare pleasure. A true treat. R-a-i-n!
Our drought is no laughing matter. It’s everything they say it is — and worse! Presumably the powers that be downplay the severe water shortage for reasons including not wishing to dampen tourism.
For example, what golfer would be compelled to come to Arizona if s/he thought the courses are drought-stricken dead grass?! Not saying they are! Just sayin’ that it behooves the tourism industry to highlight the plusses and perks and downplay the vices and woes of any given location.
Anyways, the rain’s scant and the predicted thunderstorms didn’t happen. Big surprise — not! You’d think with all this technology, forecasters would be right at least 75% of the time! Not so. Not even close.
In the end, my eyes looking out a window, nose sniffing the air, skin and bodily sensations are more trustworthy and reliable weather guide than some dude makin’ beaucoup bucks for bein’ wrong!
It’s more than these sorely-needed showers that are welcomed. So are the cloudy gray skies.
I know that sounds insane coming from me! No one — and I mean no one — has less good to say about sunless gray skies and gloom than I! I best amend that. The sunless gray skies and gloom of the Pacific Northwest (i.e., Washington state, Oregon coasts, etc.).
Were selective amnesia medically possible, I’d have them remove every single cellular memory connected to my five years in Puget Sound! The absolutely and positively most god-awful miserable years of my adult lifetime. I got out (barely) and I know that life will never ever be that dark, that replete with struggle and hardship and pain again. Never again. Never.
And it all began with the weather.
When I left that sinkhole that is western Washington state, I decided that not only would I never step foot in the state again, I’d never again live in a climate void of light, warmth and sunshine. I’d never subject myself to a climate reeking of dampness, molds and round-the-year gray! Sink Deep Into Your Bones Cold Damp Sunless Wet Suicidal Depressing Gray.
More power to anyone who likes that weather. I do not.
Thereafter, I vowed to live only in climates with Sunshine (at least 300 days a year) Warmth and Dryness.
In other words, the utter opposite of the Pacific Northwest!
I’ve not backed away from that commitment either. After departing hell in 2011, I’ve lived in the warm, dry and sunshine-rich states of Colorado, Utah and Arizona.
Because I HAVE lived in Hell and survived (barely) to tell about it (rarely), I appreciate the sun, blue skies and warmth. Possibly more than any other person on the planet. I never tire of them. I could definitely live the rest of my life in a Happy Climate.
Yes, we ARE creatures who need sun and the light! Don’t let Big Pharma convince you that they’ve got the meds to fix whatever ails you when what ails you is the absence of a natural need.
Variety is the spice of life. Much as I adore and worship these prevailing clear blue skies and abundant bright rays in this high mountainous desert of central Arizona, we need to change it up. Rather, see it changed up by Mother Nature.
Thus any precipitation is welcomed as much as the change of heavenly scenery.
What differentiates these gray Arizona skies from those in the (bawd-awful) Pacific Northwest is this: Here they end!
Sure, the heavens may be darkened for a day or several days as a front passes. Rain and/or snow may fall. If we’re lucky!
But Mr. Sol always returns. ALWAYS. And when he does, he stays for a good long while.
He’s the Dependable Father in a family split by divorce who keeps his word when he promises his kid he’ll come watch him play on the baseball field, in the school play, at the piano recital. Or he’ll simply be there for the kid’s 9th birthday party.
Like (uncommon) men who step up to the plate, Mr. Sol is Mr. Steadfast in Arizona. He’s a great father, a great healer and, honestly, my best friend!
Very soon, these velveteen ash-colored clouds swollen with moisture will roll on their way and the sun shall resume his place on center stage. To Mr. Sol, I flick my Bic and give an enthusiastic standing ovation — over and over!
He is, with water, life itself. Our Great Sustainer. The Source of warmth, health and optimism and renewal.
Cheers and salutes to Sir Sol now and forevermore!
(And, oh yeah, not so much to another round and year wasted in menial minimum-wage labor. I’d surely welcome the sun in my career again! Here’s hoping the optimism rubs off in work.)