Ever since wonder blogger Hatshepsut turned me on to Site Meter I've become addicted to checking out who's been over to visit. And while I'm reluctant to infringe on anyone's privacy, I must admit to being overcome by curiousity regarding a few regular readers. Who are you, you people from Yale, Cornell, MIT, Yeshiva University, University of Delaware, the US Department of Justice (?!) and Harvard? How did you find me and do you have anything to say? And you, yes you, from Hungary: szia and I think I know who you are (you fly, but you don't have wings; you speak perfect English and Hebrew as well - am I right?).

Anyways, I'm not trying to force any of you out of hiding; but if you're not shy, I'd really love to hear from you.

I was out for a mind-and-spirit-cleansing brisk walk when the first rain of the season arrived. It started with staccato drops that left wet spots on the dusty pavement and rinsed the black soot off the tree leaves, and rapidly worked its way into a full-throttle deluge. At the juice stand on Ben Gurion Boulevard and Dizengoff, the perpetually smiling young guy with the curly blonde hair and big blue eyes who squeezes the juice from fresh pomegranates for me was doing a "welcome rain" dance on the boulevard. Leaping like a Cossack and waving his arms skyward, he let out whoops of joy and shouted "rain! rain! it's wonderful! it's fabulous! it's amazing!"

I grinned at him from beneath my dripping hair; in response he grabbed my wrists and whirled me around in a clumsy, foot stomping dance of praise to the rain gods.

I stood under the concrete awning above the stand and sipped my juice as I watched the rain. The gutters backed up (as usual, the municipality didn't clear them) and within minutes miniature lakes had formed at the intersections. Buses sluiced through them, spraying dirty water on hapless moped riders who got in the way. And on me, too. But hey, never mind, I was already wet. And muddy.

Next to me a middle-aged woman stood with her 18 month-old grandson in his carriage. "Grandma!" he said, "Look! Water!" Yes darling, she said, it's rain. The last rains were 8 months ago, so of course he couldn't remember. He was confused. What was this stuff called rain? He grinned up at his grandmother and said, triumphantly, "Water!"

Oh well, the novelty will wear off soon. The temperatures will drop to the low-teens and I'll spend evenings at home hugging my portable heater, wearing two long-sleeved T-shirts under my sweatshirt. I'll have to start shlepping my laundry to the laundrette to use the dryers, because if I hang it out it'll go mildewy before it dries. I will wish that I'd bought a dryer instead of that lovely silk skirt I wore to all those weddings I attended in the summer. I'll start visiting my friends who live in modern apartments with central heating and windows that actually fit properly in the frames, and maybe reconsider my allegiance to location-location-location (over comfort) in terms of choosing apartments.

I will forget to be grateful that I don't have to live through another 6-month East Coast winter with ice, snow and sub-zero temperatures.

I will start wishing again that I could afford to go to India in January.