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Published on 02/23/1998 All articles from this issue

A View From The Hills

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By Mary Cristy

Raindrops keep falling on our heads

Perhaps by the time this goes to press, El Niño, that capricious brat who begs to be whacked upside the head, will have expired beneath angry waves of his own creation.

With the roof leaking and the driveway turning to marshland, Cris and I rate the severity of a storm by the number of pots that dot his studio and our living room. On that basis, this season has been relatively mild. Only three small containers in the studio, none of which impinge on his computerized work area and, now, a large one! in the living room.

Hoping to stave off the inevitable (and expensive!) alternative, we spot-checked the roof last spring, taking pains to seal "at-risk" areas. Cris went the extra mile and caulked windows, too.

"That ought to buy us one more leak-proof winter," he sighed.

This seemed plausible as we weathered El Niño's first tentative thrusts at our decaying redwood ranch house.

So, when our No. 3 son and daughter-in-law, whom we'd missed at Christmas, planned a January reunion we approached a post-holiday celebration with confidence. Our friends Gerry, Yolande, and Helga, joined the merriment as we sipped wine, nibbled hors d'oeuvres, and got into the swing of our belated party.

Our daughter-in-law, and our two women guests had lived and traveled extensively in the Far East and Europe. Gerry served with the Free French in World War II and, after years of Americanization, still sounds like Maurice Chevalier. After chatting in flawless French with Gerry and Yolande, Lynne, who is also fluent in Mandarin, regaled us with tales of her years in Luxembourg, while Helga added lively stories of life in her native Croatia.

Our son regarded his wife with an approving half-smile on his face, while I felt ready to pop with maternal pride. But, "Pride goeth before a fall," t'is said.

Presently raindrops began a staccato beat on the roof. Gerry looked startled. Yolande gazed at him quizzically and said, "What's the matter?"

Gerry began to laugh and held out his arms.

"I am gett-ing a show-air!" he said. "Eef I knew I 'ave a bath here I would not 'ave wash at 'ome."

We rushed our rain-dampened guest across the room to the dry side. I ran for a towel, and snatched up a pot to place beneath the newly sprung leak.

Gerry was a good sport. Yolande actually seemed to enjoy his plight. The kids have long marveled at our choice to grow older with this ramshackle house, rather than take the equity and tax-free capital gains we'd get for it, and run.

After the guests left I mourned, "Poor, dear Gerry! How humiliating! How can we possibly plan dinner parties while El Niño lasts?"

But Cris, ever the optimist, quoted the newscaster, who, after reporting storm-wrecked houses, swollen rivers, and flooded highways blocked with tons of mud, gazed into the TV camera and said with baffling sincerity, "It could be worse!"

I suspect Cris takes surreptitious comfort from "Mañana," the lyrics of which run: "If we wait a little while the rain will go away-and we don't need a window on such a sunny day!"