Leaky

A few years ago, I read Barbara Kingsolver's memoir, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle". The opening chapter covered her families decision to move away from the desert climate of the southwest to live off the land in Virginia. At a restaurant on the way out, a waitress bemoaned the oncoming rain, which Kingsolver criticized sharply. You should never curse the rain in a draught. 

I agree with her. I do. And the last year's draught in the Midwest is very concerning. 

But I wished it would stop raining, as both seams across the ceiling of my trailer sprung leaks, the water dripping on the counter and running down the walls and cabinets. This is on top of the leaks by the window which are worse than I've ever seen them, and the slow ooze of water by the door that swelled the countertop. The slow ooze is better than when I bought her, so I forgive it. But the window may as well be a hose aimed straight in, onto the refinished wood I replaced the water-destroyed shelf with, and runs from there onto my table and cushions. They were so wet, when I leans on them to retrieve my leak-catch towel, a pool of water squished to the surface. 

A few days ago, before it started raining and these leaks made themselves known, I'd washed some clothes and hung them in the shower to dry. Combined with the wet towels and leaks, the humidity in the trailer climbed way past that of the outside. The clothes weren't drying. The windows were permanently fogged up. I finally figured out I should dry the clothes and cushions in the car, where the AC dehumidifies, and the sun turned the air hot any time I stopped. When I had everything finally drying out, the rain stopped and I was glad. I hope it isn't a trend, but it's nice to be in a dry trailer again!