Saturday morning was beautiful. Sunday morning was plain ugly. Well, maybe not ugly if you enjoy gusty winds and hard rain. A few minutes ago, I dumped 12 millimeters of Sunday rainwater out of the gauge. That's half an inch. In contrast, here's what I saw out the back gate Saturday morning as the dog and I went out for our walk.
But before giving my weekend weather summary, let me report, as Walt did yesterday, that our late neighbors' daughter and her family had a bonfire on Saturday, out in their front yard. The neighbor who most recently lived in the house, two doors down from ours, passed away suddenly last October. His wife had died, suddenly as well, two or three years earlier. Both had cancer. Because the tree limbs are bare in winter, we had this view of the activity over there — the daughter's firetruck-red Peugeot, and hot red flames — on Saturday.
Our late neighbors had just one child, a daughter who's about 45 years old, I'd guess. All day Saturday, she and her husband and children hauled tables, chairs, beds, bed linens, and lord knows what out of the house where her parents lived, and burned it all in plain view, not far from the road. And there's more: Walt walked by there yesterday morning (in the rain) and said the family had left a big pile of furniture out in the yard, presumably to be burned at some later date. It's all been ruined by yesterday's heavy rain at this point, anyway.
Before all that excitement and mystery — I wonder if the mayor gave the family permission to burn everything like that, and why they did things in such a spectacular and spooky way — Tasha and I had taken a good long walk around the vineyard. There was sun. There were clouds. And there was a pretty rainbow.
For a change, it was nice to see bright sun early in the morning. The days are definitely getting longer now, and we're emerging from the darkness. The weather is supposed to be spring-like by the end of this week.
Even though the rain blew by in sheets in the morning, I had a sunny walk in the late afternoon with Tasha. Heavy squalls moved through again in the evening, but I was back inside by then. And dry.