A Good Rain Poncho

"I'm not going to miss this,

so I bought a poncho. 

I'm not leaving."

-- Giants fan James Olson, 

"Poncho Party: Giants Fans Unruffled by Rain," 

SFGate.com

Happy yellow bendy man in a rain poncho 11-1-14

"Make it rain you need a poncho pronto."

-- D-WHY, "Bugatti Problems"

Leo's football team played their conference championship game last night.

The weather was shitty as hell -- hard constant rain, gusty wind, dropping temperatures.

On the sidelines, the players wore ponchos over their shoulder pads.

The band wore ponchos over their uniforms.

The woodwinds had plastic little condom-like ponchos over their instruments. (In the interest of practicing "safe sax." Bah-dum-pum.)

And while our boys fought it out on the soggy, slippery field under the lights, we fans fought behind them in the cold wet bleachers under our rain ponchos.

And raincoats. And umbrellas. And boots. And hats. And blankets. And anything else warm and waterproof we could layer on to keep the elements the fuck out. One guy even wore a rubber Halloween mask. At least his face was dry.

Sitting outside in nasty weather cheering and rooting for our team did something good to us fans -- it knit us up in a "we're all in this together" kind of unity. We all snuggled close like those Emperor Penguins in Antarctica who huddle together to protect each other, and their eggs, from exposure to the elements.

Most of the home fans across the field bailed after the halftime show.

Pussies.

Not us.

On the visitors side we stuck it out. We hung in there to the bitter end. We did not give up on our boys, because our boys never gave up on the game.

And our boys won, in overtime, and were crowned conference champions. Leo played great. Nobody got hurt.

Even though it was rainy and blustery and cold and miserable, I barely felt it. I was too busy cheering to care about the weather.  Under my trusty poncho and about six other layers of rain gear, I barely felt a thing.

Except pride and joy.

Good Windshield Wipers

"Everything has beauty,

but not everyone sees it."

-- Confucius

Glasses with windshield wipers 10-21-14

"Dirk turned on the car wipers, which grumbled 

because they didn't have quite enough rain to wipe away,

so he turned them off again. 

Rain quickly speckled the windscreen. 

He turned on the wipers again, but they still 

refused to feel that the exercise was worthwhile, 

and scraped and squeaked in protest."

-- Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

It's that time of year, when it rains a little almost every day, and a lot on others.

Yesterday I had to drive in it, and I was really glad to have a good set of windshield wipers.

Before long I'll be driving through snow and sleet and salt and slush and freezing rain and "wintry mix" and all of the other shit that makes seeing through my windshield really troublesome.

It may sound completely and utterly cockamamie, but I think it's good to be able to see through my windshield when I'm driving and Mother Nature is mercilessly flinging crap at me.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Time for the "One Good Thing Automotive Maintenance Minute."

Did you know you should replace your car's wiper blades every six months, or as soon as they interfere with your visibility? If they squeak, chatter, skip, smear or streak, that means they're shit and it's probably a good idea to get new ones.

Playing In The Rain

"And it's such a fucking glorious feeling."

-- David Levithan, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

Self portrait 5-13-14

"An unexpected downpour and I'm just giving myself into it.

Because what the fuck else can you do?

Run for cover? Shriek and curse? 

No -- when the rain falls you just let it fall 

and you grin like a madman and you dance with it 

because if you you can make yourself happy in the rain, 

then you're doing pretty alright in life."

-- David Levithan, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

At what age does it happen that we finally decide we are too old, or too mature, or too well-coiffed, or too well-dressed, or too important, or too busy, or too grown up, or too whatever to go play in the rain, or to simply give in and stay outside when the downpour falls and let ourselves get good and soaked?

When I reach that age, I'll let you know. I hope it's never.

I credit my mother, in part, for my feelings about playing in the rain. She used to shoo me and my sisters out the door when the rains came. We'd put our puddle boots on and go stomp in the muddy trenches along our dirt road (we called it "making cement.") 

I can remember how the dark coils of my sisters' wet hair looked through the see-through translucence of the drenched hoods of their nylon windbreakers. 

Also, the rooster-tail spray off bike tires speeding across rain-soaked pavement is singularly pleasing, especially when you're already so wet that it doesn't matter. 

There's something about being out in the rain, on purpose, when everyone else is cowering indoors, that feels a little clandestine, a little forbidden, a little crazy and outside the lines, which probably explains why I liked it so much. And why I still do.

I doubt my mom thought super deep about sending us out in the rain. I think she was just trying to get us out of the house. So what if she had an extra load of wet laundry to do afterwards? She was doing laundry 24/7 anyway, and rain is, well, water -- no biggie.

I still like getting caught in the rain, especially on a run or a bike ride when it falls in welcome relief after a string of oppressively hot summer days. Thunder and lighting don't even bother me. I've had people slow their cars alongside me and roll down their windows to offer me a ride, and I always say "No thanks. I'm good." And I am, even though they look at me like I'm crazy.

I think it's ironic that people don't like getting their hair or their clothes wet in the rain, but they regularly take showers and soak their clothes in machines full of water.

Make up your minds.

I don't typically dole out parenting advice, but here goes.

This summer, when it rains, send your kids outside to play in it. Don't make a big deal about it. Just act like it's a perfectly normal thing to do.  Because it is. You let them run through the sprinkler don't you?

You can watch from the window, or you can join them, which will either up your cool factor a ton, or embarrass the shit out of them, which is always a fun bonus.

And if you don't have kids, just go out there anyway, especially if your mother never let you. When everybody else is popping up umbrellas and racing for cover, go ahead and stomp in the puddles. Get soaked. 

It may not be so great for your hairdo, your makeup or your clothes, but it's good for your spirit.

You know what the one good thing about a rainy day is? 

The rain.

Thunderstorms

"And the thunder rolls."

-- Garth Brooks

Blackbirds and storm clouds 4-30-14

"We pledge to fight 'blue-sky' thinking wherever we find it.

Life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day."

-- Gavin Pretor-Pinney, The Cloudspotter's Guide

"Take long walks in stormy weather ... if you would keep your spirits up."

-- Henry David Thoreau,

On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

"Tut, Tut, looks like rain."

-- A.A. Milne

My grandma was seriously afraid of thunderstorms.

She'd get all panicky and crawl under the kitchen table to wait them out, usually dragging her Schnauzer, Peppy, and my little sisters along to hide out with her.

 But she couldn't convince me to hide.

 Hell, no.

I was at the picture window or out on her front porch watching the show.

I love thunderstorms.

I love watching them.

I love smelling them.

I love hearing them.

I especially love the sound of thunder, which is why spring storm season is one of my favorite times of the year.

Thunderstorm season.

I kind of forget about them all winter, and then I hear that first low, dull, trembling roll of one approaching from the distance and I remember. I remember how hungry I am for a good thunderstorm.

We had about six different types of weather yesterday. I liked the stormy bits best. 

There is something decidedly primal and powerful and bad ass about thunderstorms. 

When the National Weather Service announces a severe storm warning, I dig it. When they show a map of where the worst part of a thunderstorm will be, I secretly hope that our little town will be smack in the middle, that we'll be the deep red smear at its rough, tough center.

I don't even mind getting caught out in a storm. It's happened to me plenty often when I'm out for a long run or on my bike, miles from home, with no other choice but to head right into it. I love driving into a thunderstorm. Because northern Ohio is so endlessly flat, the view of lighting at night spreads across the horizon like a laser-light show in the dark sky. It's better than any fireworks display.

One of my all-time favorite things is falling asleep to the sounds of a good thunderstorm. Big and bad and thunder-y and lightning-y. To me, it's better than any lullaby. 

I'm always a little disappointed and frustrated when I hear a storm coming and all the indicators look promising that it'll hit us, and then it peters out. 

Fizzles. 

Bummer.

But when one rolls in and parks itself for a while ... that's the stuff I like. It's satisfying. It's like Nature is getting some serious shit off her chest and having a good thorough emotional purge.

Some people are uncomfortable in the presence of a storm like that.

Not me. 

Maybe it's because I know the feeling.

So you'll never hear me telling a storm to stop.

I'll be the one saying "Go ahead, Honey. Let it out."

April Showers

"For after all, the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain."

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Raindrops, splashes and bubbles (and a hidden self portrait!) in a rain puddle 4-5-14

"Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the earth;

without rain, there would be no life."

-- John Updike

I went outside and played in the rain while I wait for the April showers to turn into May flowers.