On Wednesday, there was hazy sunshine, so I decided to use my newish-to-me washer to do the laundry and hang it outside to dry, thus saving propane and the planet with one easy stroke.
But the sunshine was even lazier and less effective than the local spiders, and soon vanished, presumably to go and hang out by someone’s pool and drink their free booze. The clothes still weren’t dry after dinner. So I brought the drying rack into the pantry and left it there overnight, thinking I’d try again on Thursday. But Thursday was so foggy that the air was wet and coiffure destroying (if I actually had a coiffure). I went to town to meander some errands, and when I came back, everything was still veiled in fog, so I just gave in and tossed the damp clothes into the dryer, with its propane-revealing hole burning away merrily (see above).
It’s not easy being green. Or even green-ish. If I were really green, I’d wash everything by hand and hang it on the line no matter what the weather, like my English grandmother did. Though she wasn’t subject to June Gloom*. I recently heard that term for the cold, foggy days and soul-deadening white skies around here, and my heart kind of sank when I realized it was a thing and not a fluke. You don’t name a fluke.
While on my way to town, I was simultaneously delighted and inconvenienced by repairs being made to the Ridge near the store. Hot asphalt (or tar?), big rolly things to press it down, the works. I asked one of the flag men how far they were planning to go down the road and he didn’t know, so I told him my address and suggested that it go at least that far, maybe a little further. He said he’d get right on it.
He may have been kidding.
Near Big River, there was more traffic-stopping road work. This time, I could watch the steel grey sea and reflect on how there probably is no other town in America that looks quite like Mendocino. It seems that here there are two seasons, too: winter and construction.
*Apparently, June Gloom is frequently preceded by May Gray. Yay.