I love the rain. Particularly on early mornings in the studio, such as now. There is something incredibly peaceful, comforting and inspiring about the sound of a gentle rain falling outside the window. I even have to admit that on some days, when the rain ceases and the sun comes slowly out that I am a little bit disappointed. No, I’m not a wacko who enjoys natural dentistry or Black Sabbath at 78 speed. But I do love the rain.
Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a good hard rain is, to me, very soothing. I love hearing the roll of the thunder and the rain on the roof. Sometimes I can hear the sound of a train going through the crossings in the distance. With a Hank Williams song in my head, I will drift blissfully back into the Land of Nod.
I love storms as well. My late wife Marie and I used to sit on the front porch and watch them. When a good one would come up, we would make a couple of beverages and go out to enjoy the awesome power of nature. My daughter Dana thought we were crazy. Dana had been made deathly afraid of storms at an early age by her grandmother. Momma was raised in Texas and was convinced that a beautiful thunderstorm was the beginning of Armageddon and the onslaught of tornados, complete with flying cows and projectile farm implements. She would snatch Dana up, take her to the basement and huddle in a corner.
It stuck. As Dana grew up, when a storm rolled in, she would come out onto the porch, loudly and colorfully announce that we were nuts, gather up her cats and retreat to the basement. She didn’t know what she was missing. Sitting on the front porch or standing at the back door gazing at a good, soaking rain is therapeutic. You are safe and dry, and Mother Nature is taking care of business.
I was nearly zapped one day, however. A good summer rain came up and the sun was shining. You know what is supposedly going on when that happens, but we won’t go there. There wasn’t even any thunder, just a nice, hard rain. So, I made my daiquiri on the rocks and stepped outside to take my seat and observe. I was barefoot and, just as I was beginning to step onto the concrete porch, there was an incredible boom and lightning struck the top of my driveway. It ran down through the yard and nailed my neighbors air conditioning unit. I jumped three feet backwards, yelled an obscenity, but did not spill a drop of my daiquiri. My neighbor across the street saw it hit and came running over to make sure we were all right. The in-ground sprinkler system’s box was hit, and all of the sprinkler heads were spraying water in the rain. I was convinced that the two big oak trees in the front yard had been hit as well and would soon die. Miraculously, they didn’t. I turned off the water supply to the sprinkler system and went back inside.
To this day I don’t know how, but my mother immediately found out. I personally think that my daughter called her and told her that her idiot son was stepping out on the porch to watch the rain storm and was almost struck by lightning. However it happened, she got on the phone with me, crying. She asked me to please go down in the basement from now on when it started to rain. I promised her that I would. Then I made another daiquiri, went out on the porch and sat down to watch the rest of the rain. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place, right?
I actually enjoy being outdoors in the rain, to a certain extent. Especially playing golf. As long as it’s not a driving gale, freezing cold or both, I’m good. I’ll put on my rain jacket and rain gloves, slip on the cart cover and press on, while the other Nancy Boys around me are melting like sugar.
Most golfers would play through a hurricane if the marshals didn’t make them come in. I have to admit, I’m one of those guys. One day at Lake Spivey Golf Club, my buddy Barry, Marie and I teed off in a misting rain. As we progressed through the front nine, the rain got harder and harder. By the time we made the turn to the back nine, it was coming down in sheets. We stood at the tenth tee and actually debated as to whether we were going to continue. Common sense prevailed, and we retreated to the clubhouse for a rain check and a drink in the grill room. After a toddy, Marie went home for a nap. Barry and I sat in the bar, drank Crown and in great detail recounted every backyard football game we had ever played in. The rain crackled on the windows. The drinks and the fellowship were warm, cozy and comforting. It was an afternoon I will never forget.
However, I do have my limitations. I don’t really enjoy driving in the rain, particularly anywhere near the proximity of the city of Atlanta. I don’t enjoy driving anywhere near the proximity of the city of Atlanta on any day, rain or shine, but that’s another kettle of fish. Yard work in the rain is no fun, particularly if it’s a hard rain and you are the mule. And it certainly is no fun collecting rocks for a fish pond in a driving rainstorm. I actually did that one day. It was under duress, but I did it because that was what Marie wanted us to do. We were at the end of the exit ramp from I-675 onto Anvilblock Road. There was a big pile of rocks there left over from some construction that was going on. I was soaked to the bone and heard a voice call out, “What the hell are y’all doing?” I turned around and it was Barry. I looked at him and asked, “Do you have your pistol on you?” “Yes,” he replied. “Shoot me,” I implored. “If you were ever my friend, shoot me dead right now.” He laughed, said he would call later and drove off, safe and dry in his big red F-250.
The rain is now tapping on the window, reminding me that it is time to turn my attention to the project on my drawing board. I will do so, and the rain will continue to make me feel happy, comfortable and blessed. It always has. It always will. As long as, under certain circumstances, I’m not out there in it.