the weather's will

Heading out the door this morning, I opened my umbrella and found just that right arrangement of coffee mug, lunch bag, and umbrella that would allow me to not drop anything and yet stay dry and caffeinated. This is a feat, I feel, at 6am.

With my galoshes on and tucked in to my pants, I felt a little like a jockey. Or a British aristocrat off on a ride. Either way, there should be horses involved, obviously.

And what a rain it was! Such a November rain, the kind you fear will pull all the leaves off the trees before you truly have time to appreciated them in their pied glory. I had listened to the traffic report on NPR tell what havoc this rain was wreaking on the morning commute, and I Had thought smugly about how easy I would have it on the train this morning.

Just a little walk in the rain while feeling British and then a dry, fast jaunt on the Metra. 'I am such a smart commuter,' I thought as I leaped over a puddle in front of the library, suddenly keying in to an ongoing clanging as I did so.

The library sits next to the railroad tracks, and sitting on those railroad tracks was a stuck freight train. Every crossing in my little town had its gates down and its clanging warning going, and I could see at 6:03 this morning that unless I was a jockey on a real-live horse that could sprint the mile to the one underpass in this town, I was not going to make it to the other side of the tracks to catch my train.

At that moment, I realized it: I may feel like a British aristocrat, but I live on the wrong side of the tracks. At least for this morning.

I turned back around, no longer leaping over puddles in my galoshes, and made my way to my car, ready to join the slow-driving throngs on the road as we all bend to the weather's will again.