Spring-eager Calgarians can blame (or thank) me for all the rain falling during this long weekend. Why? Because I’m having my house painted. (For once, the downpour doesn’t coincide with a Spruce Meadows event) It is a time of high excitement for me (yes, I DO need to get out more) to change the hateful hue I have suffered since 2007 (think urban camouflage meets caveman decorator). The previous owners/painters were obviously high or subject to frequent involuntary muscle spasm judging by the sloppiness of their endeavors. My dog could have done a better job, and she doesn’t have opposable thumbs.

My painters, Jose and Fernando, were doing a wonderful job repainting, but alas, there’s too much rain to finish off as yet. Completion would include reinstalling my eavestroughs. With images of the Calgary 2013 flooding still fresh in my mind, I’m worried about seepage into my or my neighbour’s basement as I watch or listen to the water pour through where the downspouts usually live. This was too worrying for me to sleep last night until I simply shut my bedroom window to block out the sound. La la la la! (And when my car makes a weird noise on the highway, YES! I do crank up the music! How did you know?)

I was luckily unscathed by the devastating 2013 floods. I had spent that evening hidden in my garage painting some newly acquired adirondack chairs a festive bright orange. Job completed, I had just settled into my comfy couch to watch a few minutes of late evening television before bed totally unaware of the havoc raging elsewhere. But before I could choose a channel, the doorbell unexpectedly rang. It was a gal pal and her bottle of Scotch, both needing some serious attention. By midnight, we’d theoretically solved all the problems in her world with no clue what Calgary’s reality had become.

In this era of the connectedness of social media and instantaneous news coverage, I somehow remained entirely unaware that Southern Alberta was mired in chaos and crisis until I woke the next morning, disbelieving and puzzled. And I felt horribly guilty for being intellectually absent from such a major catastrophe in my own town.

This weekend, I am displaying hyper vigilant tendencies to this most innocuous of downpours. I have compulsively checked, double-checked and rechecked multiple weather reports and precipitation predictor graphs searching for any possibility of a similar disaster. I’m sure I’m not alone. Satisfied that the rain is simply a gift to my garden and lawn, I am grateful for the wet ‘excuse’ to remain at my computer hoping that my creative writing abilities flow as well as my eavestroughs. And this time? You bet I’m tuned in.