Mid September

There's rain now every day. Rain rain rain. Virtually every orchid is in flower, and the gardenias, frangipani, jasmine. But there's also mold on our bedroom wall, and the other day I happened to look at my leather coat – the one I treasure as my airplane "uniform", found discarded on Bloor Street in Toronto – and it was covered in mold. So I took it out into the sunshine (despite the rain, it's still sunny almost every morning) and washed off the mold, and then sprayed it with white vinegar (the same thing I do on the interior walls), and back to life it came. I was so happy.

I love rainy season. It's my favorite time of year. But it has its problems. I remember years ago living in Kathmandu, in Nepal, there for my first time in rainy season. My close friend, Shyam's, daughter got sick and three days later died. "We hate rainy season," Shyam told me. "People get sick in rainy season." At the time I was staying in my favorite room in my favorite hotel, but I was getting bitten so badly by fleas that I had to move. The fleas lived on the rats, and then bit me. My body was covered in black and purple welts; I looked like I had a terrible disease.

Just the other day I was remembering about Kathmandu, and about rainy season there. Here is not as bad as that, but it's definitely a time of illness. I've been sick on and off, as has everyone. It's not big sick, just a fever or malaise or allergy. In Thailand people will say "no power". And that describes it well.

Outside, as I write, it has just started to pour, hard as a hammer.