The attacks on London yesterday–combined with several days in a row of grey, rainy days–have left me melancholy. I had a post for yesterday, yes. What do you say that can matter on a day when so many people are senselessly injured or killed? The only answer I could come up with was: Nothing.
I’m praying for healing, and peace. The end.
Today I’m no more profound, but I’m trying to shake my inclination to be caught up in my own fears and worries. So I’ll resume my “normal” routine as best I can. That includes a Friday trip in the way-back machine; but when I close my eyes today, all I can focus on is the rain. The world keeps turning and the rain keeps falling.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Join me in today’s stormy mood, if you like.
Rain, rain, go away,
Come again some other day.
* When I was a small child, I was terrified of thunderstorms. My brother was older and–so far as I could tell–fearless, and loved watching the lightning through the sliding glass deck door. At first I feigned interest (and bravery) so that I could be like him. Eventually, I saw what he saw, and forgot fear in favor of fascination.
* For many years I went away to camp in the summer, living for a month in one of a village of small cabins on a lake. When it rained lightly, regular activities (other than swimming or waterfront) continued as usual. When the skies really opened up, everything was cancelled, and we retreated to our cabins to wait out the storm. In the absence of thunder and lightning, we girls often ran out and washed our hair in the rain, or had shaving cream fights. When lightning crashed all around us, we huddled in our cabins and played jacks or Uno or did Madlibs and tormented the girls who shrieked at the thunder.
* I have already written about a magical first kiss that I received in the rain. It makes me feel old to realize how long ago that was.
* After years of living in the very moderate climate of northern California, I’d come to believe there was no such thing as violent weather, there. The complete absence of thunderstorms was (to me) unnerving. One day as I headed home from work, it was raining, as it often does in the winter. I was on a major highway and scoffing at the timid, native drivers who slowed down for a few puddles. In the space of five seconds I drove from moderate rain into a driving torrent of rain and hail that was so loud it hurt my ears. It also cut the visibility down to, well, zero. I was going maybe 20 mph but I couldn’t see ANYTHING and was utterly panicked; at any moment either I would hit another car, or someone would plow into me. I was sure of it. I wanted to pull over but I COULDN’T SEE where it might be safe to do so. As I tried to decide what to do (still creeping along), suddenly I exited the storm as quickly as I’d entered. I was unscathed. There was a record number of accidents on the highway that hour. I shook all the way home, and burst into tears when I later read about the various pile-ups the freak squall had caused.
* The first house my husband and I bought had a partially finished basement. Our family room was down there. One of the first things we did was replace the carpet. Less than a year later, we stood ankle-deep in a small stream as water poured through the wall at the end of a particularly rainy month. What seemed like a huge catastrophe at the time came to later be regarded as something humorous.
* This house has a leaky bulkhead, but an unfinished basement. I’ve tried various fixes to keep the water out and still each storm leaves a damp semi-circle by the bulkhead door. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Sure, I’d rather it didn’t happen. But you can’t stop the rain.