“It’s no good for nothin’.”
The “it” in question is the weather: rainy, foggy, overcast weather. Ottawa in late November is not known for its nice weather, but this weather is not just not nice. This weather has nothing to recommend it.
It’s no good for activities that I enjoy in spring and fall: planting, whether plants or bulbs. It’s no good for activities that I enjoy in summer: walking and kayaking. It’s a rain storm, in one sense, but without any storm dramatics: nasty, but in a depressingly average way. It’s cold, damp, grey grey grey, and no good for nothin’, says me. Certainly not for bird watching or for bridge photography, just to pick two examples at random. No, this weather has a perverse lack of charm, and I don’t mind saying so.
“Just relax into it.”
The “it” is still the weather, but the speaker in question is my gardener. Wearing lightweight charcoal rain gear that keeps his layered work clothes dry while allowing him a good range of motion, he wouldn’t be out of place on a golf course. Well, except for his Nordic-style wool ski hat, with pointy peak, ear flaps, and dangling yarn ties.
Standing in a garden as much his as mine, really, given his involvement over many years, he gestures with the pruning shears and tells me about his recent trip back to Holland. Hitting similar drippy, grey weather, he went around annoyed for a few days. And who could blame him? This was not what he’d wanted. This was not how he’d seen himself in his mind’s eye, enjoying a visit home.
I nod in complete understanding. But there’s more to the story.
He grins and nods his head, in turn, making the dangling tie-strings swing around a bit, for emphasis.
“After a few days, I just relaxed into it. It was all right.”
He finishes his end-of-season pruning and heads off, leaving me with a tidy yard ready for winter and a new mantra for drippy weather I can’t change.
Just relax into it.
I’m guessing it might apply to drippy things other than the weather.