It rains. It rains, It rains. it RAINS!
I turn the lights on. I turn the heating on. I put my sweater on and the comfy pants.
I step outside. I feel the rain on my face. I'm getting wet. I love it.
I look towards the sky. I see clouds moving. Shades of grey drift into each other, separate, then rejoin and create new formations.
Water in my eyes. I go inside. I start to write.
I hear rain on the window now. I hear a klicke-ti-klack. It is the little wooden Christmas bear I hung on the nail in the middle of our front door. His feet are dangling in the wind.
On my desk in front of me is a small plastic bag with black and white pictures of my Mom when she was young. A set of six dice in rainbow colors. Pens. Scotch tape and glue. Lip balm. A notebook for the novel I just started to write.
It is about a woman in her mid fifties moving to her dream cabin at the wild cliffs of the ocean.
There is also a notebook for my thoughts and feelings about my mother who has so many illnesses now. She is so far away.
A dried chestnut lies on the window sill. It reminds me of soft forest soil in Germany. Of moist leaves and needles desintegrating into black and heavy earth. Of narrow paths between old trees. Of meadows thick with grass.
It rains a lot in Germany. One reason why I love to live in Southern California. I so enjoy the many hours of sunshine, sunlight, sunrises and sunsets. I love to wake up to the colors. To a blue sky and humming birds buzzing among red flowers I don't know the names of. To the promise of another beautiful day full of possibilities, discoveries and adventures.
Now, I also love the rain. The sound of rain. The feel of rain. The longing for hot cocoa. Longing for hugs under a blanky watching silly movies. Longing for the smells and sounds of burning wood in the fireplace against the cold grey outside.
It's funny how things I badly wanted to leave behind now get me all mushy inside when I think about them. When I hear about them. When I feel them. When they touch me. Like the rain this morning.
I went outside to pick up the paper from the front yard. I just stood there and enjoyed the rain on my skin, the drops coming down heavy through my sweater. I even reached towards the sky as if asking it to give me more.
The neighbors probably think I have gone crazy.
No, they don't.
This is Los Angeles, California. A woman in her mid fifties standing barefoot in a front yard. Wearing a rainbow sweater over her sleepshirt and worn out surfer chick pants. In the pouring rain. Stretching towards the sky. So what? Who cares? Do what you want!
That's also something I love about this place. No one cares.
There are days when it would be nice to feel that someone out there cares.
Today is not one of them. Today it makes me happy.
Thinking about my mother.
No one caring.