I’m going to bet when you read the title, “When It Rains,” you’ll think the next line is, “It Pours.” Thus concluding today I’m going to discuss the ins and outs of Murphy’s Law. But that isn’t the case.
No, I want to really talk about when it rains. When water falls out of the sky. When lightning flashes and thunder rumbles and everyone runs for shelter. Yeah, that part of “When It Rains.”
When water falls from the sky I’m a happy camper. Oh, there are days in my past that would’ve seen me run like a gazelle to get out of the rain. But then an amazing thing happened. I learned even though I’ve been told I’m kind of sweet, I’m not made of sugar. That’s to say if I get caught in the rain and get wet I will not melt. So now I can dance in the rain. Maybe not as gleefully as Gene Kelly sang and danced in the rain. Boy, that might date me if I had seen the original, but I only know it from seeing it as a vintage movie. Yes, I’m going with that!
It’s really quite freeing to now relax and go with the flow, as it were, when it rains. No more rushing to duck and cover from those terrifying droplets. No more Chicken Little “the sky is falling” moments. Now when it rains, especially when it’s a nice summery warm rain, I not only enjoy the sagebrushy musty air that rises from the earth when it rains, I also turn my head up and invite an automatic sprinkling.
Yeah, it all sounds good until somebody gets hurt. And here is that story ...
Where I live we can see storms brewing and coming our way for at least 20 to 50 and more miles away, depending on the direction they come from. Knowing that, you would assume yours truly would have learned long ago to come in out of the rain when the rain is proceeded by thunderous rips and dancing lightening. In my defense, I do take note of the odd oncoming storms. But — ah, yes, in continuing with my theme, another but — but when you are mowing the lawn perched atop a riding mower, the engine running at full capacity with trees needing to be dodged and small animals are darting to and fro, who pays attention to the weather? Not this chickadee. Crazy chickadee.
In my zest to have an attractive healthy lawn, I needed to mow the lawn. My usual is morning mowing. But this day mowing was later in the afternoon. It was a warm sunshine-filled day. All was right with the world. Just the right amount of sun-to-breeze ratio. Occasionally the sun was blocked by what seemed to be a wayward cloud. Can’t you just smell the air?
Well, apparently a stray thunder head developed unnoticed by me. I’m usually so observant, but I missed this one. I’m rounding the back side of the yard, doing a rowdy .36842 mph and cutting a close corner around an aspen tree when all of a sudden the world lights up and a crack developed through the air so loud and close as to raise the little hairs on my arms, standing them all at attention. My foot slips off the pad it was resting on. My head spins around and my neck popped. Actually popped, like I was at a chiropractor. And let it be known I was brought to attention so severely that — well, you know when you laugh too hard? Yes, that severely.
Now at this point there are a few things you can do. Stop the mower, exit said mower, and scurry to the safety of your home. Or put the pedal to the metal and direct yourself to park under the nearest tree as you duck and cover. Did I do one of those? No way. I hit the brake ... hard! Hard enough to put my nose into the steering wheel, which caused an utterance to escape from my somewhat virginal mouth and as I was tossed forward I came up off the seat, which if you have a riding mower you know that leaving the seat while the mower is engaged will cause the engine to die (a built-in safety factor developed so if you fall off your mower you won’t run over and mow yourself into smithereens!).
Now I’m sitting on the dead machine, nose bent out of shape, hair standing on end, metal mower deck hugging the ground in a lightning storm ... and then the rain starts and, wouldn’t you know it, just for me there was hail, too.
Just another calm, cool, collected day in the life of this silly chickadee.
Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Share with her at firstname.lastname@example.org. Really!