Story Weekend: Rainy Days
I think the east coast of the United States is in for something far worse than a few rainy days this coming week, thanks to Hurricane Sandy. I hope everyone stays safe! Meanwhile, what’s your rainy day story?
If you’re new to Story Weekend, here’s how it works: I pick a theme and you share something from your life that relates to that theme, however you interpret it. Thanks to all of you who’ve been contributing. As always, there are a few “rules”:
▪ The story must be true
▪ Try to keep it under 100 words. Embrace the challenge! That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge.
Have fun and carry that umbrella!
My friend and I lived across the street but a block away. When I looked out my front door, if I had been able to see through the trees, I would have seen her back door. It was summer, sultry and hot, perfect thunderstorm weather and as if by some unseen director, cue the lightening. She was looking out her back door and I my front door and we both were horrified to see the bolt hit our respective houses. Even now, generations and a half a world away, both of us talk of the time we thought the other was a goner.
Wow, Christina, what an amazing memory!
One evening about 20 years ago,I found out the true meaning of “flash flooding.” My Mom and my 6 month old baby were driving home from a day of fun at the mall. All of a sudden we were in the midst of a torrential downpour.We were soon engulfed by what appeared to be a river! Logs, branches,tires,you name it were floating by us. Soon we saw a female police officer in waders telling us to turn around .Luckily,we were able to,but I’ve never experienced something so scary in my life.
Before kids, my perfect day involved a sunroom, a sofa, and a great book. Post kids, it still invovles a sunroom and sofa, but the books have to wait until sleepy little heads indent their miniature pillows. I’ll never forget the first time we watched a thunderstorm from our new second floor sunroom with the kids. Instead of fear, delight and wonder flashed across their faces as we huddled together on the sofa; lighting brightened the daytime sky and thunder shook the storm windows. Now, everytime a storm gathers, we gather too. Embraced by the intimacy of the storm, chubby little hands and gangly, scratched up legs crisscross the sofa in perfect harmony.
More like a rainy minute than a rainy day, but any rainy day story I could share with you would lose meaning without first sharing this one: The skies had opened up and pelted us with rain and hail as we crossed the street with a few groceries. I picked up my little girl, then six years old, anxiety always on high alert and ready to boil over at any minute. I ran with her, pressing her into me…she covered her ears, closed her eyes and began chanting something that sounded like a different langauge, the ‘words,’ the same, repeated over and over. At our door, on the other side of that road, I set her down to open the door and the rain stopped ! I pried her hands off her ears and yelled her name several times to get her to ‘come out of it’ and when she did, she melted against me in tears. It’s taken four years to get her to go out the door without tears when it is raining….but now she will even enjoy walks in a light rain and playing in puddles. (There was no sign that day of oncoming rain – not an experience you’d want to have for a little one with autism and high anxiety)
Rainy Days are so common on the west coast where I live. A rainy day for me is a special time so long as the rainy days don’t last more than a couple of days. I make a nice pot of coffee, bring out the quilting, read a good book under the covers of my bed, make scones some days and just hunker down with trips outside only to walk the dog (who doesn’t like walking in the rain so those trips are short.)
Yesterday it poured buckets and I got so much quilting done. Was a great day.
I used to hate rainy days. Where I live – in Israel – it only rains in the cold, winter months. My jeans – from the knee down – and my socks and shoes get soaked on the way to work and I have to work all day long in a chilly, drafty building with wet clothes. However, after seven consecutive years of drought, I now relish every rainy day.