I was thinking about adding another addition to my fledging blog because after all, if you don’t have more than two postings it isn’t really blog. It is simply cutting and pasting a couple of stories in blog format that are read and forgotten and to tell you the truth I had immense difficulty figuring out the process of posting on those pre-fab sights. Now that I think I can do it and a few people actually read what I had written, it is time to add another story. Here in lies the problem…nothing exciting has happened in my life this week; seriously, nothing. I thought about anything that might be lying dormant in my consciousness that would be mildly entertaining, inspiring, or even worth reading. After all, if facebookers are going to make the effort to hunker down in their cubicle, hide from their boss, pretend to be filling out a TPS report, all the while secretly perusing the happenings of their 353 friends, I better make it worth their while. I also know that for the stay-at-home mom out there, their time on facebook is often a little break. It can be a momentary escape to the outside world. It is a time where their children know that crayon murals go undiscovered and mommy’s make-up is fair game. If children, jobs, and responsibilities are going to be put on the back burner for a moment, I must do due diligence and write something of interest. The problem is that the only thing that happened in this past week is that it rained. Rain. No story there. Or is there?
It is no great mystery that from rain comes good things. Green grass, abundant crops, that indescribable first-rain smell, and of course rainbows all would not be possible without rain. It is also known to be a great nemeses to many such as the bride eager for the perfect day, the farmer with hay down in the field, and the soccer mom, just to name a few. To continue with the obvious, many otherwise wonderful days have been ruined by this act of God. How can something so necessary be such a spoiler? The real question is why do we let it? Of course, when your very livelihood depends on the weather it is a different story. I am not talking about the rain that devastates a crop of tomatoes whose timely ripening mean feast or famine to the farmer or the torrential down-pour that floods the basement and ruins family heirlooms. I am also not referring to the 40 days and 40 nights kind of storm that breaks levies. We can all agree that it’s hard to find the silver lining in that cloud. I’m talking about the kind of rain we all know as Oregonians. When we plan an event, it is always considered. “What if it rains?” It doesn’t matter if its high school graduation or the 4th of July parade, we are always fearful of rain. We watch the weather, we hope they’re right or wrong depending on the report, we pray, we tap into our inner-Native American ancestry and do the “Please Don’t Rain Dance”, and when we wake up on that important, weather dependant day, we peer outside with our fingers crossed and decide if this is going to be a good day or not.
A couple of weeks ago, a couple was getting married at my parents’ farm. The bride wanted to married on a farm in the fall. She wanted all of the fall hues that nature had to offer, hay rides, and her guests celebrating in the crisp autumn air under the harvest moon. What she got was a miserable rainy day. The forecast called for showers. On the news there were six suns for the rest of the week and one cloud with an umbrella icon on her day. The wedding she had no doubt, dreamt of for years, long before she had chosen a groom, was going to be a soggy mess. In all the years that my parents have held weddings on the farm it had never rained. There had been one bride left at the altar and one divorce (mine), but never rain. My dad had been building an implement shed to store tractors and the like and when it seemed that precipitation was inevitable, he ramped up construction. My ever-creative mother went to work with corn stalks, pumpkins, straw, and white Christmas lights and by Friday night she had created a harvest chapel that would have fulfilled any reasonable bride’s wishes. The white chairs that were once destined for the pristine backyard ceremony now wait in formation in the barn. My sister, I, and my exhausted mother all sat in those chairs sharing a bottle of wine the night before the wedding of a perfect stranger. We all understood how she must be feeling that night trying to enjoy her rehearsal dinner all the while watching the rain cascade down the windows of wherever she might be. I did not know her, but I felt for her. I wondered if I might have a favor from God coming to me, I might use it today for her.
The dreary day arrived and there was no break in the weather. It poured. The white reception tent heaved from the weight of it. When it filled, it bowed and released and then filled up again. My daughters and I were leaving for the evening though we were invited to stay. I didn’t want to go to a wedding in the rain. It didn’t sound like fun. We were invited to watch a college football game with a friend with two daughters the same age. I jumped at the chance to enjoy a cozy evening out of the weather, so we ran to our car covering our heads. There she was. The bride with an umbrella, alone, was standing by the fence, seeking the company of two wet horses, sobbing. Her hair and make-up and been done perfectly, her veil cascaded over her bulky coat, and she had a deep red Dahlia pinned behind her ear that now sagged and dripped. The three of us stopped in our tracks and went up to her. I gave her a hug and then my two daughters sensing her pain did the same. My 4 year old ran in the house and got her beloved blankie to comfort the soaking wet stranger while my 8 year old got my beloved red, rubber boots and presented them to her. They didn’t know what to do and they couldn’t change the weather regardless of how many times they sang “Rain, rain go away. Come again some other day”.
I didn’t know what to say so just simply asked her if she was O.K. at which time she began crying even harder. Her make-up then began running down her face like black streams weaving their way to her chin stopping long enough to form a drop and then ending up on her coat. Her trembling hands carefully tried to wipe it away and she answered, “Yes, I’m perfect. Everything is so beautiful! I am so touched that so many people have gone through so much to make this day special.”
I think she noticed the are-you-kidding-me-its-pouring look on my face and said, “The rain is so beautiful.”
Amazed by her positive attitude and grace I stood there and talked with her for a while. I had taken the time to curl my hair and dress my girls in warm dry clothes. I was now soaked and my children were shaking the tent poles and giggling as the water came crashing down on them. I wondered if she was faking it. How is this perfect? My grandma once told me that it is not about the wedding, it is about the marriage. I know that too well. I had a perfect wedding and a failed marriage. This girl seemed to understand that. She knew that though the rain would dampen her dress and her guests it was not going to dampen her spirits and she was not going to let it affect how she felt on this day. Storms are unavoidable in life and we can all decide if we are going to seek shelter in our grief and self-pity or embrace what each day has given us and find that silver lining.
As I drove away, with two muddy kids and smeared make-up of my own, I marveled at her attitude. I thought about the bride who showed up to be married on the farm last summer only to discover that the groom had hopped a plane to an undisclosed location. I wondered if at the moment she heard the news with her heart in her throat on that beautiful sunny day, what she would have given for only a little rain.
We arrived at my friend’s house and sloshed up to the front steps at which time two excited girls came bounding down the stairs to greet mine and they all went outside to play. They rode their bikes through standing water, laughing at the enormous splash. They rummaged through the garage and the cars until they came up with four oversized golf umbrellas and they skipped down the street and through the field twirling them. At one point they all sat down hunkered together on the wet sidewalk and positioned their umbrellas around them…an instant fort. We wondered what these newly introduced girls were talking about in there: the weather perhaps. Throughout the day they found great joy in all the activities the summer rain had to offer. The dragged each other on skate boards through a large, deep puddle and then jumped and splashed and laughed until hours later they decided they were cold. There stood four dripping kids in the laundry room smiling from ear to ear as though they had gotten away with something that would have otherwise not been allowed. We have all said, “Get out of that puddle!” or “Those are your new shoes! What are you thinking?” or have struggled to come up with a fun rainy-day activity when often the rain alone is the activity. I am always so quick to put on a movie and keep my children inside when it’s raining even though we all know that clothes dry and hot chocolate is so much better when it is earned. Perhaps our daughters were on to something and they learned to enjoy the previously considered nasty weather that day. They found the beauty in it and I hope that one day if it rains on their wedding days, they will find the beauty in that too.
Last weekend my sister and I had planned to take our horses and meet up with two friends for an early morning trail ride. Three of us being mothers and all of us living busy lives, it is nearly impossible to pull of such a feat. We had gone the day before, minus one who is not a horse owner though a life-long horse lover. The entire time we rode, we kept saying, “We need to get Mary Jeanne out here. She would love it.” So we called her certain she would say no. She works, is getting her Master’s degree, a mother of three kids in numerous activities, and like every Sunday, she was singing in church. The only way to make it happen was to meet at 7 AM the next morning. My sister made arrangements for my mother to watch her three boys, the 25 year old kid less friend, Emily grumbled at the thought of an early morning as did I, but this was going to be fun.
I woke up the next morning at 6 to the sound of rain on the roof. I got dressed and looked out my window, up the hill to my sister’s house. The barn lights were on and I could see movement in the kitchen. I hoped and assumed she was making coffee. I tucked my jeans into my boots to keep them dry and I drove up to her house. The only sound on that dark morning was the rattling of feed buckets coming from the barn from horses happy to have such an early breakfast on that damp Sunday morning. I quietly opened the front door as to not wake sleeping children. My sister was dressed and ready to go and poured me a cup of coffee. “Do you really want to ride in the rain?” I asked. We drank our coffee and contemplated the question as her boys trickled down the stairs in their pajamas one by one. Going back to bed to seemed good to me and riding in the rain sounded miserable. I called Emily and she said that she was going to go back to sleep until we made a decision. Just before 7 the sun was coming up and the rain was not letting up. Mary Jeanne called and wondered where we were. She was already there and eager to ride. We threw the horses in the trailer and we were on our way. The windshield wipers on full bore, we sang along to the Sunday morning country oldies show.
The rain stopped while we saddled the horses and as we plodded along the trail, it was no more than a gentle mist. We talked at times and at times we were silent and alone in our own thoughts. I was thinking that I was sore and I’m sure Mary Jeanne was going over her song for church in her head. Emily was worried that her beautiful new saddle was going to get water spots on it but so glad to be riding again. I’m sure my sister was worried that her horse would slip in the mud and she would have yet another vet bill. I saw cougar tracks and began surveying the landscape looking for a large cat and preparing myself for a cougar attack. At one point in the ride we all spread out a bit and went on in silence; the leather of our saddles squeaking in cadence with strides of our horses. And then it happened. About a mile left in the ride, it got eerily dark and it began to rain; hard.
When we got back we were drenched and our horses’ ears drooped and the dust on their coats had become mud. What would have seemed to be inevitable misery was not. Each one of was smiling inside and out. The quiet, peaceful ride had done wonders for all of us, for different reasons. Though the rain made us all drowned wrecks it was somehow cleansing. Had we pulled the covers over our heads at the first sound of it, we would not have had that moment.
It continued to rain throughout the morning and into the afternoon. That day our family and friends were going to The St. Josef’s Grape Stomping Festival just as we did every year. It was always fun and I looked forward to it every year. Chicken dancing in the rain did not sound like fun, however, wine or no wine. My mother insisted that it was going to be a perfect sunny afternoon. I had my doubts. She went about her business of making a peach cobbler, confident that she was right. As I drove to pick up my girls from their dad’s, I turned off my windshield wipers to see how long I could go before the rain drops took over: not long. I packed rain coats to go over their German dresses and I considered wearing my red rubber boots with mine. As we arrived at the festival, the accordion music echoed through the fields of grapes and a smaller crowd of people who were not going to let a little rain spoil their day gathered under tents enjoying it all. My clean children found the nearest puddle just as the sun came out. It was the perfect afternoon. The children danced and ate Bratwurst and embraced their German heritage, until St. Patrick’s Day when they would switch back to being Irish. Again, had we let the rain dictate our plans, we would have missed out on such memorable day.
Sometimes in life the sky is dark, the days are gloomy, and our curls are flat. We have choices during those times. We can wait for it pass and complain out it; put our lives on hold until the next sunny day or we can stand in the middle of the rain and let it know that we welcome it and without it we would look ridiculous in our red, rubber boots. Thank you, rain. You are a good thing.
