The other night I was watching dark clouds move into the area from the north. I could see a flash or two of lightning, hear thunder rumbling, and feel the rush of wind that often precedes a rain storm. I checked my phone for the radar on whether the storm would hit my house directly. I was not in the main path of the storm, but on the fringe. The brunt of the storm was headed a little west of my house, headed toward a place that I care a great deal about. That place did receive quite a bit of rain. My house? Only a trace. I had to laugh. Rain usually does elude my house. I could see all the signs of a storm, but it was virtually a dry run with all the visual, audio, and tactile effects of the real thing. If I compare the number of rain storms that happen to the place just to the west to the number I receive at my place, a pattern emerges. It nearly always gets the measurable amounts, and I nearly always get the trace amount. I have to laugh at the irony of that. I don't know why that happens.
Life is intermittent in what it brings. There is no doubt about that. Trying to understand why things happen the way they do drives me crazy. A pattern emerges there too. I don't understand why things happen. My way of dealing with things I don't understand is to shake my head, and laugh at my little understanding of the grand scheme of things. But I am really glad that things happen well or right just to the west of me.
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