Time to complain about the weather
It is cold, dark, dank, and rainy. Much of this spring has been like that, and now they say it will continue for the rest of the week for northern coastal New England, with temperatures in the balmy ("balmy" as in "crazy," not as in "mild and pleasant") 40s and 50s.
It reminds me a bit of two summers ago, when there was a three-week period of rain, heavy humidity, and fog in August. The foghorns made a continual moan, which was pleasantly atmospheric for the first day or two, and then began to grind on the nerves most gratingly. One morning I noticed that the muted gold-colored fabric on my dining room chairs had taken on a moss-green sheen. How odd! When I went to inspect, I saw that the moss-green sheen was moss-green because--well, because it actually was some sort of green moss/mildew/mold. And then I noticed that, virtually overnight, various and sundry organic relatives of that green stuff had sprouted over many of the surfaces of the lower floor of my house--on walls, cabinets, wood, and fabric.
I'll spare you the details of what was necessary to remove the visitation, but suffice to say it involved a lot of bleach and a lot of work, and was the stuff of early Twilight Zone episodes, including nightmares featuring the return of the dread and humongous fungus.
As for the present rain, which has not yet reached those proportions--well, the flowers probably like it. But right now they all are bowed down by the heavy barrage, the tall tulip heads bent so low that they arc to nearly touch the grass.
And we people most assuredly do not like it. We didn't bargain for Seattle. Spring is usually a very nice season in New England--although a rather short one.
There's an old saying here, though: there are two seasons in New England--winter, and the Fourth of July. I guess we're in the winter part.