When It Rains

So, in case you didn’t know, it rains a ton in Washington, D.C. This, I did not even think about before we moved here for the summer. Right now, I’m sitting in our little studio, listening to the deafening claps of thunder and watching the lighting flash thinking about how exciting a good rain storm can be. It’s one of those things that you don’t realize you miss until you experience it again.

I grew up in Houston, and we experienced rain more often than you would think. It’s not as green there as it is here, but it still rained a lot. And we definitely got some great storms. Secretly, I would always hope that it would flood. I really don’t know why. As an adult, it seems so ridiculous. You are stranded at home, usually without power, hoping that the water doesn’t rise far enough to ruin your carpet and your irreplaceable photo albums.

Once in awhile, we’d get a real do-zy in the middle of the night. One by one, by brother and sisters would join my parents downstairs in the livingroom, and we’d all talk until the thunder quieted down and the storm passed over. I was usually one of the last ones; as a heavy sleeper, I wouldn’t wake up until the power went out, cutting off the large, drown-out-the-sound box fan in the hallway. I always felt like I was missing a party, my family sitting around laughing, marveling at the chaos outside, with a bunch of candles and flashlights. I hoped that the storm would go on for hours.

I have to say, though, that my favorite type of storm is the one that comes on slowly about mid-morning or mid-afternoon. The clouds start to swirl and the wind blows fast and hard, cooling you down even on a hot day. The sky slowly darkens until it seems like twilight, even though it’s the middle of the day. The calm before the storm: there’s something about that moment that thrills me. I love to close my eyes and just breathe it in. It’s almost like I feel nostalgia, which really doesn’t make much sense. I always wish it could last longer. I have a kinship with Marianne Dashwood, chasing the clouds and getting caught in the rain.

But then, the clouds begin to billow, and I know the first raindrop isn’t far away. The rain comes, and it ruins my perfect little reverie. The thunder, the lightening, the tink tink of the sprinkling beginning drops. Then, it starts to pour and people scatter from the sidewalks. The sky gets so dark, day turns to night, and then back again when it’s over. For some reason, I love that part. Maybe it’s because I'm kind of a night owl. On those days, I get two nights, instead of just one.

I feel a little sad when the sun emerges again. The air gets heavy and sticky with heat, and it seems like something has just passed me by without enough attention or appreciation. But fortunately, at least three or four opportunities exist each week to try and enjoy those moments while they last. I’ll soak in as much as I can!