There are Two Seasons in Seattle: August, and The Rainy Season

We've entered "the rains" here in the Northwest, and for the past week or so, with the exception of a few hours Monday afternoon, we've been engulfed in a shroud of showers.

People living here experience SAD (seasonal affective disorder), as many who work in offices drive to work in the dark and leave also in the dark. Add to that the dank, given that the sidewalks grow mold and trees drip moss. Seattleites don't carry umbrellas; instead, we ignore the rain. If we had to open and close umbrellas, we'd waste precious hours.

Seattle joke: What did the Seattleite say to the Pillsbury Doughboy?

--Nice tan.

I have a lightbox. To those of you in southern climes (lucky ducks! Oh wait. We're the ducks...) that's a cringingly bright light that you sit in front of so that you don't go crazy. My desk lamp is a "full spectrum" florescent that ostensibly simulates the soothing rays of sunshine. Doesn't work. My kitchen light is a long "solar" bulb. I nearly wrote "blub." Like I'm underwater.

I remember emerging one afternoon from my office, looking out on the foliage and asking aloud, "what's that white stuff?" It was sunshine. I just didn't recognize it.

However, I do get some practice now and then. We have something known as a "sun break." It's part of the weather forecast, whenever possible. "Rain, then showers." "Drizzles, then rain." "Cloudy, Afternoon rain." Then, our hopes go sky-high: "Rain. Chance of sun-breaks."

Sun-breaks, you would think, are like coffee breaks anywhere else. Here in Seattle, home of Starbucks, we get them together. A "sun-break" means a little space between the clouds when the sun peeps through. If you're in a crowd, you'll hear someone yell "SUNBREAK!" and everyone drops what he's doing and runs outside to turn his face to the "white stuff," craving a mini-dose of Vitamin D. At that welcome word, you hear people formerly with cell to ear saying, "'Callya right back!" and joining the herd heading for the nearest balcony. Even a window will do.

Seattle is a great place to live. It has the highest per capita book purchasing. It is a movie mecca. It has ubiquitous coffee dens with fireplaces. Reading, movies and hibernating--sounds like winter. Ten months a year.

Oh, there's skiing. But my husband won't let any of us try it. Too dangerous. Remember Sonny Bono...though I heard some suspect he didn't ski into a tree after all. That's another story.

Don't think this is just a soppy k'vetch, though I've done a good job of it. What I wanted to say was how happy I am every morning to be able to see the rain-reflections on my patio, and the sheets of gray outside the window, and hear the pecking raindrops on our metal roof and skylight.

I decided a while ago that depressing as this constant cold, dark and wet is to this Southern California girl, I was going to make the most of it.

It's Jewish tradition to "wake up like a lion to the service of the Lord," and after a few moans in my warm down-comforter sleep-number bed, I force myself. "Modeh ani," I recite, the traditional expression of gratitude for being allowed another day. And then, I look outside.

"And ANOTHER gray day in the grayest region on God's green earth!" I leap out of bed like a lion groping for her slippers.

Truth is, I didn't really see much more than the color outside, because before inserting my contact lenses, the world is fuzzy. But after throwing on my gym clothes, I finally pop in my vision and take a look.

"...Pokayach ivrim." That's part of the morning blessings: Blessed is God...who gives sight to the blind. And that's when I don't mind the rain at all.

On the way into the gym today, leaves fallen from two trees, amber and crimson and gold, mingled on the startlingly green grass to create a collage that sparkled with the rain. I was surprised by its beauty. But I didn't pause too long. Because, without an umbrella, I was getting drenched.