Rainy Days and Sundays

Something about rainy days has always enticed me out of the house and into the elements. Even when I was a little, I would rush out to my tricycle and enjoy the drip, drop, drip of little raindrops. Maybe it was because my older sister and brother learned a song at school and taught it to me, and we'd sing it together in the car on long rides. "Drip drop drip little April showers, we're getting wet, and we don't care at all." The last person still singing ended with the final words, "Drip, drip, drip." Then again, I think I loved rain even before that.

Now that I think of it, there was another song I heard before I was even born. Someone gave us a lullaby cassette tape as a baby gift for Miles, the first of us three kids. The song began, "I love the sound of the music they make when little raindrops are tapping away, like a piano on my window pain, playing a lullaby." Maybe rain always sounded like music to me, gentle and soothing, because of that song. Even when I was twelve, I'd keep that tape in my room and listen to it. The words must have made an impression on my sister Claire, too. All three of us had been playing Suzuki violin, but one day Claire saw a cello at the Symphony School. She sat down with it and played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, the song all Suzuki students learn first. Mom says hearing the word "cello" on that lullaby tape must have influenced Claire. It's in the same song I just mentioned: "When the wind blows on my window, I hear cellos playing a lullaby." I have no idea whatever became of our cassette tape, but I should buy the CD so I can listen again to little raindrops and wind blowing like cellos. http://www.cduniverse.com/search/xx/music/pid/3511965/a/Child's+Gift+of+Lullabyes.htm

Another reason I might love rain is that my dad is so crazy about thunderstorms. I remember the dollhouse in the corner of the bedroom Claire and I shared in our last house in Bowman Woods. We had the best view of storms from the window right by the dollhouse, and Dad would squat down between us, smiling and gazing at wall clouds advancing like an army toward us. The wind would pick up, the trees would sway, lightning would fork the sky, and thunder boomed. The rain came fast and hard, but it never scared me. It was just exciting and something to love about our weather.

I never understand people complaining about dreary, rainy days. I love the shine of rainwater on sidewalks, the sound of tires on wet streets, the glow of lights from store windows and tall street lanterns. I think of it as atmospheric, not dreary. To be inside looking out is so warm and cozy, whether it's in a coffee shop sipping a hot drink, or sitting in a favorite chair with steamy chamomile tea.

Even though Dad is a light sleeper and storms keep him awake, I find the noise of a storm peaceful and a great way to fall asleep. The subtle rumble of thunder in the distance, the little pitter patter of drops at my window, is calming.

Another great night-time sound is a train whistle blowing in the distance, but that was only when we spent a weekend in Nebraska with Dad's parents. Grandma and Grandpa Kean have been dead for several years now, but I the mournful whistle of a train does not bring back the sadness of their loss. It brings back the happy sound of waking in the night in a bed at Grandma and Grandpa's house in a small Nebraska town. Rarely, I do hear the sound outside my own bedroom window, but it's fainter and farther away. And that just adds to the effect. Night time. Something rumbling and moving in the distance.

What a great feeling it is to wake up on a dark, rainy morning and realize it is not Monday. Today, Sunday, was just such a morning. I lay in my bed, snug and warm, with my cat Bobi, curled up in a ball right next to me, purring softly. After breakfast, our old dog Bailey jumped up when she saw me come outside in the rain. She must have remembered how I used to take her walking in the rain, but Mom always tells me, "She's too old now," and can't even make it up the driveway now. But I pulled down the leash from the wall, and Bailey wagged her tail and trotted up the driveway with me. I hesitated at the top, but she did not. I had to pull back on the leash, but then I decided to let her keep going. Maybe I would have to carry her home—or maybe she would rise to the occasion and walk like the old days. To my pleasant surprise, she did just that. She even got ahead of me. To make sure I didn't wear her out, I turned her around after just a few houses, but she walked all the way back home. She even seemed ready to go on another walk. So we did, this time with Dad. Bailey went even farther this time, and did just fine. She sniffed everything and left her "scented graffiti," as Mom calls it, all over the place. Just like old times, Bailey got to sniff donkeys, sheep, neighbor dogs, and who knows what else.

I'm the one who fell asleep on the sofa after our walk. When I woke up, the sun was shining. A new day? No. I was thrilled to realize it was Sunday. I was not so thrilled to realize I still had lots of homework to do before the day was done. I would have happily traded all that afternoon sunshine for a rainy Sunday morning. (985)