Rainy Saturdays weren't so bad once the season changed and I'd grown accustomed to it. In the Pacific Northwest, a place where rain is a season unto itself, our old kitchen table was a place where lots of rainy day creativity happened. It was not only a great place to be when dinner wasn't being served, but for some reason, our kitchen seemed to be the warmest room in the house. There was a certain peace listening to rain tap against the window, and through silver streaks I saw our dog's dish turned blown over in the wet grass. A few leaves fallen on the patchy grass of the backyard proved that the wonderful season of Autumn had arrived. In those serene moments, I felt warm and relaxed. From the kitchen I smelled pancakes as Mom flipped 'em on the stove. Syrup always followed, as did gooey fingers, and in the course of my gobbling them down, a sticky fork. Sticky utensils never bothered me; after all maple syrup was the lifeblood of pancakes.
Saturday mornings inarguably brought the greatest of television shows; if the rain was coming down hard, there were no kids outside to distract me from my shows. Just before noon, "Science Fiction Theater" came on; it was a show far above my seven year-old head, but my brothers loved it, so I did as well. Once the afternoon rolled around I found myself with coloring books and the deliciously waxy scent of crayons. Army men setups on the floor were likewise great as was Jon Gnagy's TV show. Jon was America's favorite TV artist, and I was fascinated watching him create marvelous masterpieces in a span of fifteen minutes. "Highway Patrol" came on later and topped off the afternoon. Rainy Saturdays weren't bad at all.
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