The Weather Service hosed this one.
Heavy rain all day, they said. Well, it’s turning to rain now.
My block is festooned with Creamsicle-striped cans because the County is bumping the curb out. Safety for pedestrians or traffic mitigation or something. At least the project seems likely to reduce the number of people who take the corner badly and drive up into my yard; I still have vivid memories of the shaken, handless Asian teenagers who took down the lamp-post with their father’s Lincoln. They were so contrite and wretched that I made green tea and brought it out to them in delicate flower-patterned china cups for them to drink while a county cop (she became the model for a scrappy character in my second mystery novel) changed their ruptured tire.
I didn’t make tea for the rednecks from around the corner whose pickup nearly hit Splinter the cherry tree in a slush storm in March of’ ’07.
And on a day like this I’m glad that anyone who skids on that turn will just end up hood down in the roadwork dig. Too nasty out for me to fool with.