York has thrown us for a loop lately.
Pulled a fast one on us.
Gone and made a game-changing bucket from the cheap seats in overtime.
Jennifer, myself, and Tyler have come to know York, England as a place where the rain falls liberally and the clouds consistently hang out overhead like a group of kids gathered over a massive worm crawling slowly towards another massive worm that is waiting for the initial massive worm so that they can then crawl to a new location.
(Or something like that.)
But lately, the gray skies and the rain have been nonexistant. Instead, as I type these words at 8 am, we're in a phase of what I'll call Relentless Sunshine.
It just won't stop.
Constant sun shining is a really wonderful thing. It's especially wonderful when you open your bedroom curtains and remark, Holy crap! Another sunny day!? And then you kind of close your bedroom curtains and then open them again just so you feel like you actually have TWO sunshiney days instead of one.
And it works!
We're now going on day number four of Relentless Sunshine. Tyler has been to the swings often in the past four days; he has run around in our backyard; he has dragged an old broom across the grass in the backyard (for some reason, a favorite activity of his); and he has done a skipping-dancing-jig thing that looks kind of like running with a severe limp on the sidewalks of our neighborhood.
All in the name of Relentless Sunshine.
I haven't grown to expect it (yet). But if this keeps up, I'll start to wonder what in the heck is happening to the weather patterns to make it so.
I'll also start to wonder if, perhaps, Tyler will need to learn a rain dance. After all, one can take only so much Relentless Sunshine.
Not that I'm complaining. But there's something fun about being able to say, Yup, got another rain today, but then the skies opened up something fierce and this blue burst through and it was like, WHOA....and then it rained again.
Right now, this is what I'm saying: Yup, another Relentless Sunshiney day today. The blue was there and it stayed there and the sun was there and it stayed there and it was all like, WHOA....and then it stayed there and then the moon plopped itself onto the black and then we went to bed.
I guess, in a weird sort of way, when it rains often, the sunshine feels like an extraordinary and remarkable friend who you know loves you and will always come back, even if he is away for a while. And maybe being away makes you appreciate a loyal friend like that more than you would if he was always just hanging around, finding massive worms.
(Or something like that.)
