Trail Mix: Maybe the bad weather is a whole lot of karma

But we have no interest in denigrating the good people of New Orleans, nor residents of waterlogged parts of the Puget Sound region.

The idea is to figure out exactly what we've done to bring on this two-month mayhem marathon.

OK, there was that six-month period of last year when a lot of us kept making short jokes about NBA commissioner David Stern. Yeah, he's a liar. But still: Not nice. The man can't help it he's a dwarf.

Not to mention the fact that countless numbers of you — and you know who you are — summarily decided during the recent snowstorm that handicapped parking spots were fair game. After all, why would people missing limbs and other pieces need to park close to the store — or be outdoors at all, for that matter — when the roads and parking lots are covered with treacherous ice?

Add it all up and ask: Did you really think none of that would come back to haunt you somewhere farther along your trek down Karma Road?

Exactly.

Mother Nature is a better judge of character then Judge Judy, her wrath infinitely harsher. One strike, you're out.

The first part of our sentence was served Tuesday night, when my wife, fresh-air-nut Emjay, suddenly ran screaming from her home office, strands of her hair in her shaking hands, exclaiming: "I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

She wanted to go for a walk. Down at the marina. Right in the middle of weather straight out of "Deadliest Catch." After several seconds of visions that included seeing my beloved swept out to sea by a rogue wave, I slumped off to go with her.

A half hour into this ill-advised slog, it occurred to me that the stinging, horizontal rain seemed particularly angry. This is always the case when you walk along the water.

I have a theory on this: The rain is ticked because it's just gone through an entire evaporation cycle, from long-traveling groundwater to vapor to cloud to raindrop, then falling all the way back to earth, only to realize at the last minute that it has been cheated. It's going straight back into the drink. There's no dancing its way down a mountain stream, no plunging off a waterfall, not even a one-way journey down a storm drain. No glory at all. Just right back into the briny deep from whence it sprang.

Who wouldn't want to take the resulting anger out on hapless victims out flopping around in the dark like flounders on a dock?

I thought about dropping this cluster bomb of fantastic wisdom on my better half, Emjay, but I couldn't locate her amid the sea spray and funnel clouds. Some apparent human form was walking a short distance behind me, but given the onion-like layers of synthetic garments, there was no way to be sure it was her — or even if it was a her.

But we survived without Coast Guard assistance, none the worse for wear, except for Sharpei skin wrinkling and a bit of trunk rot. And as I was wringing out my clothes and grimacing, the realization came flooding back: I deserved this.

Try it for yourself.

Next time you're up to your waist in it, on the ski slopes or your driveway, try thinking back on all your misdeeds from the year past. Sure, it's a trick to allow you to cling to an illusion of universal justice. So what?

Take it from us: The sooner you realize you brought it all on yourself, the less miserable you'll be.

Ron Judd: 206-464-8280 or at rjudd@seattletimes.com. More columns at www.seattletimes.com/columnists