I spent the first 23 years of my life under an uninterrupted cycle of cool springs, hot and muggy summers, crisp autumns, and doggedly cold Wisconsin winters. Seasonal variation was more of a general suggestion for Mother Nature to dance around — 70 degree days could easily be followed by 40 degree ones. In six months, you'd watch the temperature plummet from scorching triple digits to numbingly cold double digits below zero.

When I moved to California, my move was a common topic of conversation. One person asked me if I liked the California weather. I contemplated this.

"It's driving me nuts. It's like Groundhog's Day," I said, referring to the movie. "Every day is the same thing. Same temperature, same sky."

Anyway, I hit my one-year mark last summer. Now, entering my second winter, things are starting to repeat themselves. It's starting to rain regularly in San Francisco.

The familiarity of it struck me.