Official rainfall records began to be kept in Waco in December, 1901. Apparently, it was a late decision, as the only rainfall listed for 1901 is December (1.50 inches). As of this year, the average rainfall is 36 inches per year. (I’m assuming that this number changes each year, as they should/might recalculate a new “average” each year, by incorporating each year’s actual rainfall into all the previous years, and creating a new average.)

Here are some rainfall totals over the years.

1905-60.20–This is the greatest rainfall listed.

1919-52.07–This was a good year, too.

1954-14.92–This is the lowest yearly rainfall total.

2004-59.69–This total, just a few years ago (well, a few years ago, considering the over one hundred years of records), was close to the record yearly rainfall (back in 1905).

Meanwhile, the constant, dripping, driving rainfall that we’ve seen for the past two or three days, has waned a little. When I went out first thing Thursday morning, there were some dry spots on the driveway.

This year, in Central Texas, we had substantially less rainfall than the average, with summer monthly totals of .20, .47, and .57. Then, in September, we had 4.9 inches. As of Thursday, we’ve had 9.53 inches for October. Now, we’re trying to recall what a sunny day was like.

The normal year-to-date rainfall total, as of yesterday, was 27.36. The actual year-to-date total, as of yesterday, was 24.04. The weather app on my phone shows little rainy-day icons for all day tomorrow, and several days in the coming week. We might make it!

Research can be so much fun. I’ve spent quite a while looking at the maps at the National Weather Service. I understand the green parts that show Flash Flood Watches and Flood Advisories in my part of Texas. (It has been raining a a lot.) But I’m also seeing freeze warnings and frost advisories for areas where family lives, and, I got a little side-tracked by “Special Weather Statements,” that come from parts of the country where I don’t think I know anybody.

The Lord will send rain to water the seeds you have planted—your fields will produce more crops than you need, and your cattle will graze in open pastures.

Okay. I don’t actually have any cattle. The only animals I have in my backyard are squirrels. But I’m grateful for the rain that nourishes my plants and trees. I’m comforted to know that the large, local lake is filling up with water for drinking and cleaning and bathing. I thank God for the rain.

A few years ago, David’s car made its last trip. The car we bought next has remote ignition.  I used it for trips to Fort Worth to get Peter, because it was newer and therefore, more reliable. And then, I insisted that I drive him around town in that car. My reasoning was that, because the car would get really hot, hot, hot in the summer sun, if I could start the car (the climate control comes on when the car starts), then the interior would be at least a little bit less hot when I put the little boy into his car seat, after a couple of hours at the zoo. Also, that would mean that we wouldn’t have to transfer the car seat from car to car. It was hard not to agree, when it’s Peter’s well-being at issue.

A few years later, when my car was really old, and repairs were costing more than the car was worth, we bought a new car for me to drive. Someone had given Kevin and April an additional car seat, which they handed down to us. It’s permanently installed in my car, at least until Peter’s heavy enough and tall enough to safely ride in a booster seat. And, the car has a remote ignition, too.

The remote ignition is nice for really hot or cold days. But the more important issue is–it helps me locate the car.

I never misplace the car at the grocery store. I drive into the same lane every time I go. Maybe I park nearer the store. Maybe I park at the far, far end of the row, where there is a tree. That’s where I park on hot afternoons, when the smallest amount of shade helps, even at the expense of a few bird droppings. Even then, I will aim the car’s key at the distant car and press the remote button, to get the air conditioning going.

However, in other parking lots, I often drive up and down a couple of lanes to find a closer parking spot. As I exit the car, I gather up my recycled shopping bags, lock the car, and walk into the store. I rarely, ever, think about paying close attention to where, exactly, I have left the car.

Once, leaving Target, I started the car remotely. I walked to where I thought it was. It wasn’t there. I walked down another lane. Nope. I turned around, headed in a different direction, and heard the faint sound of a car’s motor. I walked over toward the sound, and, TA-DAH! There was my car, purring along, waiting for me to locate it.

Lights on! Engine humming!

And, just  yesterday, at Wal-Mart, I walked out of the store, pushing the cart with my purchases, and aimed my key fob towards where I thought the car was. As I walked up the lane, I thought, No. This isn’t where I parked the car. I parked with the car headed the other direction.

I kept walking, slowly, looking at other rows of cars, trying surreptitiously to locate my car. (I hate to look like an old woman who cannot remember where her car is, however true it is.) I kept on walking, slowly, slowly. I passed a large white van, and, right in the next slot–was my car, lights on, with the motor humming and humming away. Whew!

Jesus told the people another story:

And I’m almost done sorting out all the yarn!

We moved into our current home late in November, 2006. We’d done some work in the previous months, after my dad moved into a retirement residence and we’d had an estate sale and the house was pretty much empty. The walls got repainted. New flooring was laid in the dining and kitchen area. That sort of thing.

I hadn’t really noticed how badly the paint on the front porch’s wrought iron railing was peeling and that the underlying metal was showing rust. When spring arrived, I started working on it. I was using sand paper to file down the chipping paint, smoothing things out to prepare to repaint. It was a lo-o-o-o-o-ng process. I got a sander to make things go more quickly. Or, rather, not so slowly. Quickly wasn’t really happening.

Then, my brother-in-law bought a grinder. NOW we were getting somewhere. I ended up sanding/grinding off every bit of the old white paint, the bottom-most layer having been applied in 1959. It looked great. The next day or so, it rained, and rust began to show up, within hours it seemed. And, while it’s usually hard to be unhappy about rainfall here, I was relieved when it stopped after a few days, and I smoothed off the new rusty parts, and repainted the railing a nice, clean white. Ta-Dah!

I had assured myself that I would pounce on any new cracked, rust-vulnerable portions of rail that showed up.

Actually, I didn’t exactly pounce. But when several cracked, rusty parts showed up this past summer, I made note of them and promised to deal with it when the weather cooled down a tad. And it did, last week.

I got some sand paper (there were only a few rusty places) and sanded down the problem areas. I gathered a couple of partially used spray cans of white paint from a shelf in the garage. I carefully laid down newspaper below the railing and taped it down with sturdy blue masking tape.

I sprayed the railing until the can of primer ran out of paint, apparently having been almost all used up with some previous project. Not a problem. I had a can of Primer/Paint combination. I shook that one up and kept on working. Until that one ran out.

I really did not want to change from my painting clothes to regular going-out-in-public clothes to go to Lowe’s for more paint. But what luck! I found an unopened can of white primer/paint combination, right there on the shelf. I knew it was full because I had to remove the protective piece of plastic from the spray nozzle. I got right to work and finished up the first coat and had plenty left for a second coat, too.

I went out the next day and trimmed off some leaves from the plants in the flower bed. They’d been in the line of fire from the paint cans, and I thought they might should be cut away, because those whitened leaves were probably not going to be all that important to the plant in their paint-covered state.

Then I removed the paper that had been protecting the section of porch that was underneath the railing …

and discovered that, apparently, I had also spray painted the front porch. Or at least part of it (the part not carefully protected by the taped-down newspaper sections).

I’m hoping that weathering (rain, strong western sunshine, etc.) will moderate the obvious mistake that was made. Maybe people will think it’s some trick of the sun, which really is pretty strong in the late afternoon. If you come to visit, you do not need to mention it, I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT IT!