Rain

After three weeks of blue skies and sweltering temps, it finally rained.

The first drops fell during our drive back from picking up Yo-Yo at camp and I yelled so loud that Miss Beccaboo, who was quietly lounging in the back seat listening to Yo-Yo chant meaningless camp diddies, nearly wilted. I must have scared the clouds, too, because I only got to swish the windshield wipers a couple times.

An hour later it started again. I whooped and hollered and grabbed my camera to take pictures of the drops of water—better than the first snow of the year!—that were falling from the sky. I contemplated stripping off my clothes and tearing around the yard with a broom, but refrained. Still, my camera and wild thoughts were enough to make the clouds dry up and retract. Again.

My friend advised me to hang up laundry. I seriously considered it, but there were hamburgers and poppers to reheat on the grill, an exciting proposition that momentarily distracted me from my obsession with the meteorological conditions.

After supper I headed out to meet my sister-in-law for a walk. Raindrops started falling just as I stepped off the porch. Yeah, right, I sneered at the heavens. Like you think you can rain, or something.

“Think we can make it?” my sister-in-law asked when I reached the top of her drive.

“Oh yeah. It’s not going to rain anyway,” I said, all bluster and peeve.

We made it halfway down the dirt road before the threatening white cloud obscuring the mountain ridge convinced us to turn back, and by the time I got home it was raining gently. I took a risk and shouted out the obvious to the entire world: It’s raining! WHOO-EEEEEEEEE!

And the rain came down faster.

The kids tore around the yard, from trampoline to puddles to the five-gallon bucket of dog water which they dunked their already-wet heads into. Bodies plastered with wet clothes, they shivered and shrieked. Mr. Handsome and I were more reserved, stately rocking on the porch swing and discussing weighty matters like where I could find black mustard seeds (I don’t think Mr. Handsome fully appreciated the importance of this question) or if our town would still host their outside viewing of The Princess Bride. (They did, we went.)

This might sound crazy, but it’s because of these dramatic shifts in temperature that I’m glad we don’t have air conditioning. The irritability, lack of sleep, swollen ankles and slight nausea, our very pores weeping for mercy, all these things serve to intensify the glorious relief when the skies finally dump.

This morning is cool and cloudy. The breeze is blowing through the house, setting the fly tape and hanging spider plant a-swaying. Two loaves of bread are cooling on the table. The kids are sleeping in.

I am rejuvenated.