As Nathan so capably described earlier today, we got a sprinkle yesterday in Brooklyn. I happened to be with JP during the brief, watery blitzkrieg, exposed to the Brooklyn elements, which means rows of overpriced brownstones, fancy-pants cheese shops, and the hungry millions of yuppies wondering where, if anywhere, a tree will now grow in the borough.
JP and I took refuge under an awning outside a school. We passed the time watching the storm, hoping a nearby flagpole didn’t snap in half, and joking with a school custodian who was also trying to out wait the rain (to JP: “You hear that thunder? That’s god bowling”).
JP, meanwhile, was determined to prove that his Why phase was firmly underway:
- Why is it raining, Daddy?
- Why are we having a storm?
- Why is there lightning?
- Why are we getting wet?
- Why is there wind when it rains?
- Why is thunder loud?
- Why does it always rain when I’m outside?
I won’t go into the various lies I told JP to explain these things (okay, one: It rains because the clouds drank too much milk and their tummies needed to be emptied).
Apparently to deal with this little one, I’m going to have review my sixth grade earth-science textbooks. Putting aside the metaphysical queries, I couldn’t really handle the science on just about any of these.