I Used to Play in the Rain.

       What a dreary day in May, a month I usually love and really enjoy. The rain started lightly enough this morning, a drizzle filtering in through the clouds, the sky a drab tone of gray from the start. I was content to lounge in bed a little longer, my husband taking my kindergartener to school and my other girls enjoying a slow rise, leaning back on my large pillows and snuggling in for an episode or two of morning cartoons. 

       I closed up the windows to the house, didn't want the cool air to suck the warmth from my home, didn't want to let in the damp to wet the windowsills. I told the girls to play outside but only as far as the empty garage so they wouldn't be coming in muddy, asking me for towels and a change of clothes. The rain abated for a few minutes as we walked out to the truck this afternoon, loading in to pick up the oldest from school. A deluge targeted us soon after, though, as the wipers swished full bore to clear enough space for me to see the road. The roar of the water hitting the roof lulled those two sleepyheads into dream land and I was able to drift myself, enjoying the peace though not quiet of the rain the remainder of the drive. 

       It was after I picked her up, after all three were awake and admiring the tenacity of the storm on the way home, that I realized how different the weather makes me feel now. I used to play in the rain. I used to run in it, hit a softball to center field and revel in it. I used to race the drops on my bike, trying to make it home from a family ride the fastest, to laugh at the dirt stripe up the back of my shirt and wring out my soaking ponytail. 

I wasn't playing today. 

       I stepped out of the car to get gas, having tempted fate and pushing the limits, having driven thirty miles at interstate speed after the light came on, with a car full of three tired and hungry girls in the middle of the rain. We made it there and into the storm I stepped. Thunder cracked nearby, so close, and I was struck by the lack of electricity that usually followed. I didn't look about for the lightning, didn't count the distance. No youthful adage of angels bowling played in my head when I heard it. I merely pushed the buttons on the pump, chose my fuel and forged ahead with my day. 

       I have never been immune to the static of a storm before. Always vulnerable to the excitement and energy that it brings, I missed the chill it used to send up my spine. I missed the enthusiasm it would usually entice me into, the thunder vibrating my soul and the lightning lighting my spirit. But not today. The wind picked up, whipping my hair about my face as the mist again turned to monsoon, challenging me to turn away and run or better yet, attempting to amp me up. I wasn't having it though, as I stayed facing squarely into the breeze, sheets of water soaking my face and catching the side of my leg. My glasses were glazed with tiny droplets and my jeans slicked to my frame when I was through.

        I felt thoroughly unaffected. Well, maybe more wrung out really by life, and unaffected by the rain. I would have thought it would feel different, this passionate of a storm. I guess I expected it to hit me harder, one way or the other, when the weather turns full force against me. I would have thought today would be sorrowful, that tears would always be at the ready, brought out easily by the color of the sky and the tone of the world. Or perhaps that my zest for life would be forefront instead, that I could play in the rain as before, dressing my girls in ponchos and puddle jumpers, arming them with umbrellas and myself with a camera lens. 

May 2013. Playing in the rain...a different life not so long ago.

       Either way it didn't happen. I dried my glasses, pulled back my wildly styled hair and we made our way to home where it was no longer raining. Not one of the girls stopped to splash in the pond that was our driveway, not one paused to look for worms winding their way out of the drowned ground. And that was fine by me today; I didn't need to encourage their busy nature. I already have enough laundry to do this week, enough wet towels thrown on my life to last me through.