The blessedness of rain

Rain was predicted for the early morning hours today, but I woke to dry sidewalks, a lovely breeze tossing the trees about, and gloomy skies that could easily hold rain. By ten o’clock, there was a bit of thunder rumble and some sprinkles on the back-yard walk. But most blessed was that unmistakable, wonderful smell of rain. And the weatherman predicated a high of 88. A gift from the gods as we head into August.

It proved to be an illusion. It apparently rained all around us but not on us. And my indoor/outdoor thermometer said 97 at four o’clock. Nonetheless, Jordan and I did sit on the patio for a bit with wine, until I thought I was getting bitten. No see‘ums. For tonight, the weatherman predicts a 60% chance of rain between midnight and four in the morning. If it comes, I’ll sleep through it. But I pray to wake to wet sidewalks.

Proof that my boys are fishermen: here are Jacob with his fish, and Uncle Colin with his. They threw the fish back, of course, to catch another day. But both were pretty proud of themselves and their catch.

Megan likes to joke that the planning-ahead gene missed her but landed squarely on Jordan. Like me, Jordan plans ahead. For large parties, we put serving dishes out days ahead with notes in them about what goes in each. That once led Christian, when they were newly married, to tell her, “You and your mother have a screw loose.” We don’t think so. For trips, we begin packing a week or more ahead. Megan starts to think about it the night before her family has a five o’clock in the morning flight.

Now, Jordan and I are thinking ahead to our Great Lakes cruise. We leave August 23, but tonight she started going through my closet, pulling out and setting aside clothes I might take. Anticipation is part of the fun of a trip. But I did email Megan about our early packing—she’ll have a good laugh.

Saw an interesting clip on Facebook today about the conversations black parents have with their children to prepare them to survive in a world where white supremacy reigns. It’s about what to do when the police pull you over—not IF they pull you over but WHEN, because it’s inevitable. And then the zinger of a line: it will be your fault, because you’re black. Bingo!  How many times have my kids said to me, “Mom, if there’s an accident when you’re drivinf, it will be your fault, because you’re old.” Won’t matter if I’m innocent—I’m old. Struck me that there’s a problem common to the elderly and to people of color. It’s the instant assumptions people make about us before they know us. My insight for the day.

And on that note, good night, sweet dreams.