A Chance of Rain

I know I’ve been writing a lot about the weather, but you have to remember, I’ve been living in a constant state of 55-overcast-skies-with-a-70%-chance-of-showers the past seven years. So here we are again, covering the subject of weather. It’s starting to feel like we’re polite co-workers on the elevator.
This weekend, we had a hurricane. I know what you’re thinking. “hm….I don’t remember hearing about a hurricane hitting Manhattan.” Okay. True enough. Perhaps it wasn’t technically a hurricane, but it sure felt like it.
People started talking about the coming rains on Thursday. “Big storm coming this weekend,” I heard more than once at the park. By Friday, people were already planning on how they were going to hunker down. “See you tomorrow,” I said to my friends on my way out of the park Friday morning. “Oh, maybe,” was the response. “You know, rain’s coming tomorrow.” Internally, I rolled my eyes. These were the same people who carried golf umbrellas in the mist – a little rain wasn’t going to faze this Seattleite.
Saturday morning, Taetu and I woke up to a downpour. The rain was heavy, but I had an umbrella and coat and Taetu seemed game, so we headed to Central Park. In the entire Great Lawn area, we only ran into two dogs. Luckily, one of them was Teatu’s friend Clifford, a 90 lb poodle with a huge afro and a goofy, delightful disposition. He and Taetu (all 15 pounds of him) get along great. After an hour, I was pretty wet, but nothing major. I still managed to get to the grocery store, laundry mat, bagel shop, and gym without feeling like this storm was living up to the hype.
When I got back from the gym I grabbed Taetu again to run a few more Aarons. We live on 85th and I had to go as far north as 97th. Those 12 blocks were some of the most harrowing of my life. The wind rushed down the narrow street in small waves and with the heavy, sideways rain, you could actually see the wind coming before it hit you. When it did hit, it was a powerful slap that made pedestrians leaning forward actually take a step back. The question wasn’t if your umbrella would get blown inside out, but how many times that would happen before the wind actually snapped it apart. Corner trash bins were filled with them.
The rain fell with such force it felt like standing under a showerhead – but much colder. When wind gusts would hit back to back, people on the street would actually scream out loud with shock from the force. In these few blocks I saw not one, but two umbrellas flying past, having been picked up by the power of the wind. Taetu, being very close to the ground, wasn’t at risk of flying away, but every few blocks, he would stop and look back at me wearily, clearly not enjoying himself. After our four stops, we were both over the rain. Taetu kept trying to sneak into restaurants and barber shops whose doors had blown open. When I got home, I cancelled plans to head to SOHO in favor of a trip to the local movie theatre a block away. Taetu fell asleep immediately, curling up in his dog bed by the heater.
The storm knocked out power in 400,000 homes in the area and was blamed on three deaths over the weekend. Edison called it the worst storm in decades. So the pre-storm buzz was warranted. And in six weeks, I’ve seen a “hurricane” (all-be-it an unofficial one), a weekend of spring-like beauty, and not one, but two major snow storms. This may be global warming or it may just be the transition of seasons. Whatever it is, here in New York, nothing is dull, not even the weather.