Rain and Remembering

What is there about rain that prompts remembering? Is it the closed in or closed off feeling from the rest of the world? Is it a childhood memory of being read to or tucking up in bed with a favorite Nancy Drew mystery while rain slid down the window and tapped on the roof?

Memories of high school football games after a rain, marching at half-time across the field, shoes that wound up muddy and an instrument that had to be thoroughly dried before being put away.

Baking on rainy afternoons with grandchildren. Scooting a chair close to the counter so the little one could stand on it and stir the batter in the bowl, dirty dishes in the sink and small hands sailing boats through the suds, the aroma of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. And then the warmth of cookies and milk while raindrops closed us in, a snug, gray curtain.

Splashing through the rain toward the science building and a class required for graduation, wishing I had thought to bring an umbrella, then the sudden warmth of a young man catching up with me, holding his umbrella over both our heads, the amazing change of a gray day into one filled with inner sunshine.

Watching rain rattle the leaves of the oaks in my parents’ back yard while I, safe and secure at their kitchen table, savored a cup of strong black coffee and shared my innermost hopes and dreams with my mother.

Rain in Ireland, creating the perfect backdrop to walking through an ancient graveyard, going inside a round, stone building, and singing “Amazing Grace” with my fellow Baptists, in a place which once knew the chants of long ago monks. 

The inspirational drum of rain against the window as I, buoyed by my love of weather, invented a story about a rainy July in Oklahoma and the problems it caused  my erstwhile protagonist.

Rain and memories. They go hand in hand. And, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Manos Mysteries