Before I got out of bed this morning — before I woke up, in fact — I knew it was raining. It was the scent of rain in the air, but mostly it was the sound of tires on wet pavement. I don't often hear traffic on the two roads surrounding the property, but that was how I woke up today.

The dreary weather outside was nothing compared to the dismal pounding of the phone and fax, and the unforeseen emergencies I should have foreseen, and the sudden crises I should have known were coming. All of my plans for the day were thrown to the four winds and soaked in the seven seas. I spent the whole day reacting to this, that and the other. Some disasters were averted, others embraced.

I had the damnedest time (ooh, that's a word, no wavy red lines) getting out to get the mail this afternoon. I wanted to get it as early as possible, because the mailbox leaks. But I didn't want to get too awfully wet myself.

When it looked as if the rain was letting up just a touch, I pulled on my heaviest jacket (ironically labeled with an "F" for "Florida"; I think the Marlins must wear their warm jackets only when they play in Milwaukee in April or in San Francisco in July), strapped on my old sneakers (still more comfortable than the new ones) and walked out the door — just as it started coming down in buckets.

I turned on a dime and was back inside like Luis Castillo beating out a drag bunt. Fast, in other words. Word.

After ten minutes of absolute frog-drowning downpour, it lessened to a light drizzle and I ventured out. I should have waited, because the garden was still soaking up the rain and there were puddles I couldn't step around.

And because the driveway was one long, brown puddle.

And because the oak trees that overhang the far end of the drive were still dripping madly, and the eucalyptus that looms above the mailbox was throwing off twigs and small branches.

But mostly because the mail wasn't even there yet, and I'd have to trek back and try again later. It was a helluva deal. (That one's not a word.)

Another of the many delights of Monday is how the mail is even later than usual for December, when the delivery sometimes doesn't happen until after dark (which, in turn, happens way too early in the day). When I checked again an hour later, the ground was just as soggy but the puddles were less obvious. I probably ended up tracking in more mud than I did the first time, but at least the mail was there. I could take off my shoes for the rest of the day and wear my furry moccasins around the house.