Editor's Column: Rain, rain go away

Growing up in the greater Los Angeles area, the only raincoat I ever owned was purple. It was a Minnie Mouse raincoat and the collective five times I ever used it for its intended purpose, I loved it.

Sitting in the back of my closet, or rather lying in the heap of clothes that always covered my closet floor, I occasionally would grab it to play dress-up or just to admire the drawing of Minnie on the back of the coat. This drawing encapsulates my conception of precipitation from age 1 to 18: euphoria. A smiling Minnie is standing in the rain, her upturned eyes are glazed over, most likely from what seems like the cathartic sensation of rain falling on her little black dot of a nose.

This raincoat probably fit me for the total of one year. I grew fast; my mom was 5-foot-8 and my dad was 6-foot-6. It was in my genes. The next time my parents bought me a raincoat, I was 18.

When it came to umbrellas, I had two. Similar to the Minnie raincoat, one umbrella was 101 Dalmatians' themed, the other was Mickey Mouse. I had a blatant weakness for all things Disney, but for self-preservation purposes, I stopped using both umbrellas after fourth grade. I didn't need them, because the only time I ever really came in contact with the rain was the dash from the car to my classroom door. At school all the walkways were covered, and because in LA everyone drives, I wasn't going to use an umbrella anytime soon for a walk to the store. Besides, most years I could usually count the number of days it rained with my fingers.

The rain was hypnotizing. Especially at night, sitting in the dry car with the heater on, (it seemed to always be cold whenever it rained) the world outside captivated me. Stained with water, the streets glistened as they reflected the store signs, street lights, and traffic signals. Oranges, greens, and reds created a river of lights in front of our car and behind it; it was a perfect pictorial representation of the rain.

This morning I woke up to the refreshing smell of rain. Much better than the usual smell of cigarettes that drifts daily from the apartment below into my third-story window, I can not deny that it is pleasant and I can not deny that I prefer it to the stale scent of night-old smoke. An odd steam rises past my window as I look out to the stream pouring from above and as I start to think of all the things I have to accomplish today, I am slowly filled with a subtle loathing for Mother Nature. Time to close the window.

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.

The initial novelty of rain has worn off for me. For some reason after experiencing rain through fall, winter, spring, and summer, it all got old. Sitting in wet clothes during class with my hair matted to my face somehow has lost its appeal. No matter how I vary my walks in the rain, I always arrive at my destination with my raincoat stuck to my skin unable to feel my feet, since my rain boots cut off all circulation past my ankles. Sacrifices must be made for fashion, right?

It took me a while to adjust; I had always associated rain with the cold and because humidity is a foreign word in the vocabulary of Los Angelites, I didn't understand that rain did not require layering of clothes. You can wear flip-flops in the rain? I guess I lived a sheltered life in LA; my family just did not raise me that way.

The surprise rain attacks always catch me off guard. In LA, you could see the rain coming for days. None of this sunny-morning, rainy-afternoon pattern.

After the wind took the life of two of my umbrellas, I stopped believing that an inside-out umbrella was merely a Hollywood creation. Minnie Mouse, you made it look like so much fun. Obviously she doesn't live in New England.