Praying For Rain

Kage Baker used to pray for rainy weather on New Year’s.

Not that the weather mattered much to us – it was the foreigners she worried about. All those non-Californians watching the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day, seeing our crystalline air and abundant sunshine and total lack of snow, who then tended to pack up the family and move out to what they thought was paradise.

That was what bothered Kage. She felt our state was Paradise, too, and frankly didn’t want to share it with more people. But our eccentric weather patterns and whatever pact the Pasadena Rose Parade Association has made with the local gods usually kept the day dry and gorgeous. Kage’s prayers were in vain.

We weren’t real partiers, she and I – our New Year’s observances were quiet. We tended to an early dinner and then immersion in the Twilight Zone marathon until it was time to watch the ball drop in Times Square. Then we’d open our champagne, drink our toasts on the front porch while the neighbors shot off guns, firecrackers, signalling cannons and mortars, and eventually take the first ceremonial walk of the year …

When we still lived in Los Angeles, the walk was up and down the narrow, weird streets of the Hollywood Hills. We’d ghost along the sidewalks, spying in through lighted windows at the jollity displayed. We had our favourite neighbors – the families whose children we watched grow up, the house where we never saw anything alive but cats, the living room graced with a stuffed rampant polar bear … we’d walk up to the crest of the hill we lived on, where the rolling land dropped away to the west and the scent of the sea came in across 10 miles of the twinkling, improbable  city. We would breathe in the salt air and resolve to survive.

We took our walks in Pismo, too. The barrage was especially loud there: for a city with only 8,000 permanent inhabitants, we had a lot of firearm enthusiasts. And every holiday tourist seemed to arrive with guns, fireworks and turkey deep fryers that they didn’t know how to use and tended to launch into the air on trails of flaming oil. It was pretty exciting. But when we walked out, it was a mere block or so to the sea itself, where the dark sands and luminous Pacific were a perfect well of peace.

Kage used to kick off her shoes and hand me her coat, and wade out into the surf. No matter how cold the night, no matter if it was raining in Pismo, she’d sprint into the waves. She’d bathe her face in the icy sea-water and vow to write; she’d promise her soul to her muse if only he would continue to inspire her. Then we would go sit on the sea wall until her feet dried enough to brush off the sand and get her shoes back on, watching the waves roll in reflecting the Christmas lights on the Pier.

We would trade my pocket flask back and forth, warming ourselves on single malt, and make our one constant resolution: to survive. And then we’d walk home, with Kage cursing the fine weather and the locust tourists all the way, and go to bed.

The weather forecast for the New Year is clear, sunny and 77 degrees. I don’t know if I’ll be walking out this year – especially if I’m post-surgical – but I will most certainly be swearing at the lovely weather. It’s traditional.

You’d think the million people crowded like lemmings along Colorado Boulevard would discourage people watching on television; but those shots of the snow-capped mountains above the orchards always turn up and there we are. The whole damned place looks like a fairy tale, or an orange crate label then: Kage would groan, and claim she could hear thousands of pupils dilating in the depths of the frozen country East of the Rockies …

So we pray for rain. It doesn’t work, but you never know. This year it might. Whatever it does  – I’ll survive.

About Kate

I am Kage Baker's sister. Kage was/is a well-known science fiction writer, who died on January 31, 2010. She told me to keep her work going - I'm doing that. This blog will document the process.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Praying For Rain

  1. OMG! After living in Pasadena for over a decade I would always say the Tournament of Roses people made a deal with Satan for that damnable weather. Each year, even when I moved up North, I would sacrifice to whichever God I thought could help, that rain would pour on Pasadena. Some years rain poured on New Years Eve and into the early hours of New Years Day. But then the cameras would roll, the rain would start, the heavens would part, and sun would shine forth in all it’s glory. I believe there was one rainy Rose Parade in my memory but not nearly enough in my opinion.


  2. Rain would stop, not start. My eyes are getting old – damn them!


  3. Neassa says:

    For that matter, praying for rain period isn’t a bad idea. While we had a blessedly dry run for Dickens we had an unfortunately dry December. A wet (or very wet) January would be nice…


    • Kate says:

      Oh, I am praying for rain on general principles! We have indeed had a dry year – though when it rained down here, it rained *hard* – just not nearly enough. Fortunately, January and February are more often than not nice and wet. God knows, something needs to green up the grass – here in the LA Basin, it all got frost-blasted last week.

      Our weather is psychotic.



  4. Tom says:

    None but the best for you this New Year, Kathleen. None but the best.


  5. Michael Young says:

    I will pray for rain, drink something nice, even go for a walk but take a plunge in the Pacific ocean not bloody likely.
    hope this new year is nothing but better for everyone!


  6. Kate says:

    Mike – Kage took bargaining with God very seriously.


  7. Jane says:

    For my part: May all those non-Californian visitors come visit my workplace gardens and pour their money out over all this NYE! We need the tourist dollars – and it can pour lovely blessed rain on Mother Earth the day after the parade 😉


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.