Seattle 74, or Fall Hits

The rains have come, as promised. They haven't stopped for two days. I wake and sleep to the sound of a torrential, endless drizzle. It's almost become background noise - almost. I am used to winter - snow, and ice and cold. I like the feeling of toughing it out, of feeling as though I've really *earned* spring, when it arrives. I like wrapping myself in layers, and fires and cider and cocoa. This seems too gentle, and yet too persistent.

I don't have a rain coat. The sixth-grader I tutor twice a week loaned me an umbrella to walk home with. I wear two wool sweaters. I carry sneakers to work, and walk in my rain boots. This makes me feel like a real Seattlelite. Only tourists wear raincoats, the natives say. Get used to being wet. It makes you clean. It makes you grateful.

Sergey and I drive to the farmer's market. The haul: kale, chard, cilantro, garlic, lemons, fresh eggs, a bag of carrots. I am dreaming of greens. The rain makes everything shine, look that much more tempting inside the fluttering tarp walls of the market. In my wool, I smell like a sheep. I love that smell. I buy a small bottle of spiced apple cider and drink it as I walk - it's like bottled apple pie, nutmeg, cinnamon, the apple flavor coming through like a trumpet.

Shabbat at house Aleph: lots of soup, salads, a collection of boots and dripping outerwear by the front door. Asya, the Yiddish culture professor with a sharp sense of humor, sings everything pronounced in Ashkenazi, and I can see the newcomers peeking down the table: who's this young woman singing like my grandfather? Joel reminds us to thank G-d and the unions for the weekend. He does that every week, before Kiddush. We go around the table and thank each other for being good housemates, for being each other's support. Shaul got a high score on his LSAT exam. There mazel tovs and kol hakavods across the table. It's not been the easiest few weeks for the kibbutz. There's hard, hard work coming. We take triumph where we can get it.

I've invited a friend over for a rich dinner of greens and potatoes, and I'm making salsa verde in the meantime. The tomatillos in the back yard are finally ripe. I've been waiting for them for a long time. In the Big Room, pop/dance music blasts as Steven and Zara get ready for the Moishe House Prom. They say they'll be happy if 10 people show up. People tend to stay in after such a big change in the weather.