I think that it was in Sometimes A Great Notion that Ken Kesey talked about the “standin’ and starings”, a condition endemic to people of the Northwest once the holidays are over and the long days of rain have set in. It is a condition somewhere between a hypnotic state, severe depression, and Zen meditation. It is known to be particularly prevalent along the coast and the valleys west of the Cascades. Conversation stops, eyes turn to stare vacantly at the continual downpour, glad to be in out of it, resentful of the confinement. Distracted. Reflection sets in. With a gentle shove a person can become maudlin, or worse, philosophical.

I first noticed its presence yesterday in Annie, our dog. As she walked along the edge of the small fern enshrouded creek her usual frantic sniffing and tail (stump) wagging gave way to long pauses during which she stared at the small animal trails leading to the water. She stood dazed and I imagined that some slight scent had sparked a primal memory. Do dogs think and imagine or is that only reserved for humans? In any case we pottered along, pause to pause, looking, I imagine, like an old man and his dog, until finally we came around and in, to dry paws, shed shoes, and sit in silence for a bit.

It must have rained steadily through the night, though I only became aware of it around 3:30 or so. I warmed a cup of yesterday’s coffee and read. Or at least tried to but kept stopping to listen to the rain and wind rocking the bus. Slowly I came to realize that we had them, the “standin’ and starings”. We were in for long silent days of distracted conversation and repeating ourselves. Nothing was going to get done, or at least get completed. It is the nature of the condition that much gets started, little gets finished. Between bouts of watching rain splash in muddy puddles we will spend our time trying to remember what we were just doing.

It occurs to me, and maybe this is just the philosophical side of the “standin’ and starings” kicking in, but the condition is not a lot different than the actuality of getting older. Maybe rainy January is just a natural hint of what’s to come. I don’t know, but it sure is raining.

The Road