Calvin, Julie, and Josh packed up the Durango in the rain last night for the trip back to Atlanta. Trey, Jakey, and Will had their packs filled with essential toys and books slung on their backs and ready for the word from Mama to load. They left in the pouring rains from Tropical Storm Debby, but probably ran out of it before Dublin. Anyway, they arrived as safe and sound as possible after such a trip. It was wonderful to have the family all home for a weekend. It was also boisterous, rowdy, animated, and several other explicit adjectives. But Larry and I enjoyed the weekend, as well as the two-week visit with the grandchildren.
This morning I woke to a quiet house and rain on the roof. What lovely sounds. The sounds of quietness. A noiseless house in the peacefulness of the morning before anyone else wakes up is pleasant, to say the least. And rain pattering on the roof puts me in a pleasant mood. I’ve always enjoyed the rain, even as a child. Mama never allowed me to play in it, but there is a natural attraction between children and water falling from the sky in any form. So while the boys were here, we took advantage of that attraction.
One overcast afternoon when the winds were strong enough to blow away the assorted insects, we ventured out to play ball with the dogs. The boys were playing with their light sabers while I hit soggy tennis balls around for Bentley and Charlie. Each dog has his own ball because they don’t share even as well as the children. We’d been playing about 10 minutes when the first drops of rain started to fall, just a light sprinkling at first and then heavier and more rapidly. Fat drops hit the boys on the foreheads, plastering dark hair to scalps and falling into gorgeous blue eyes. I was somewhat protected under the heavy branches of the oak tree, but the strongest drops were starting to reach me, too.
I searched the sky for any flashes of lightning and found none. No thunder came to my ears. And so we continued to play. Besides, if the weather gets seriously bad, Charlie the dog will lead us to the door. He doesn’t care for thunder and lightning. We played and played. Then we played some more. After a while, Larry stuck his head out the door and inquired, “Y’all don’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain?”
“Apparently not,” I replied. “You can join us if you like.”
He didn’t like. Oh, well, his loss. When the rain turned into a toad strangler, we finally came in. I had the boys strip on the back deck and we put wet, muddy clothes in the washer on the way in. Boys were directed to the bathtubs. And a good time was had by all. It’s been years since I played in the rain like that, probably not since my children were little, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I suspect Trey, Jakey, and Will will remember this day for years to come, will tuck it away in their permanent memory banks. I hope so.
Our garden is half drowned from the last deluge we had, but such is life. If Debby’s downpours drown the other half, so be it. We’ll survive. I haven’t checked officially, but I’ll bet the water table is up. We’re probably out of the drought that’s been hounding us for the past several years. But be it too much or too little, I love the rain. For those of you who don’t, please remember that I’m just stating my opinion. I have no control over it, of course, didn’t even pray for it. As a matter of fact, I was out watering flowers Saturday when help came via the sky. If you have serious complaints, you’ll have to take them up with the Gentleman upstairs. That’s His department.