Whether it be a just a little sprinkle, a sudden downpour, a full-blown thunderstorm with hail, or whatever, I have always loved the rain.
I am sure I am not alone in my appreciation of the rain, there is just something about how it soothes. It looks nice, it can sound cool, and depending on where you happen to be, it can smell and feel great. In fact, rain is just one of my favorite things. (I wonder how many people start humming the Julie Andrew's song after reading that last sentence.)
True, I associate many fond memories from my lifetime with rain. There is nothing better than grabbing a book and a cup of hot chocolate (or tea, or coffee) and sitting safely inside while outside, it storms for the whole day.
I have been at a few outdoor concerts where, after a few hours in the heat, we welcomed a sudden downpour that drenched all of us, but, rejuvinated by the freshness, we continued to pogo and bop around to the music, caring little for our disheveled appearances. Great times, those are.
Of course, there are moments when I have found the rain not to be so pleasant, at least not at the precise moment. I managed to get caught out in a storm several years ago that soaked me to the skin, thus enabling me win a a wet t-shirt contest, which would have been all well and good had I not been on my way to give a business presentation. I never learned from that experience, and to this day still do not carry an umbrella, preferring to just take things as they come. As a result, I have several trophies at home commemorating my ability to achieve a top 5 finish in said contests.
Driving in the rain is not always that fun, either. I once drove through the state of Arkansas during a tremendous rain. There was no visibility, and I probably should have pulled over to the side of the road, as it simply was not safe to drive. However, considering where I was, I did not think it would be any safer to stop, so pressed on for the next six hours, finally collapsing in exhaustion in a cheap motel.
Still, despite those times, particularly afterwards, I found pleasure in those experiences, as well as a bit of humor.
This past week I had the chance to appreciate the rain on several occasions. I found myself sitting outside last Sunday afternoon, doing a bit of writing. The album of choice was something from Bad Religion, and for 36.7 minutes (their albums tend to be on the short side) I sat outside by myself at a table with a large umbrella. From there, I was able to enjoy the gentle rain without getting wet, and really found the experience to be quite peaceful.
A few days later, while at work, a friend and I looked outside to see the sudden rainstorm. We went downstairs to get a closer look, and were momentarily blown about as the wind blew the rain this way and that. As I looked forward to the commute home on the train, thinking I would sit and look out the window at the rain, my colleague began to swear. For a minute, I was a bit surprised at his reaction, until I rememebered that he had come to work on his motorcycle that day; the drive home for him would fall into the "less than pleasant" category that I just described above.
By the end of the week, the rain was gone (or so it seemed), and the weekend started with sunny skies, lots of sun, and summertime temperatures. I spent my Saturday being a slug, never leaving the flat except for a quick trip to the supermarket. I spent the evening cooking myself a decent dinner, watched the 3rd place match of the Women's World Cup, then went to bed rather early.
Recently (er, over the past several months) I do not seem to be sleeping that well, sometimes due to a restless night, other times simply because there is too much on the brain, still other times because the dreams turn into nightmares. Once or twice I have wondered, is it because I am eating so much chicken? I then immediately remember that it likely has more to do with me finding my place, and my peace, in a couple of different cultures.
During a train ride home from work earlier in the week, perhaps even as my colleague rode his motorcycle home in the wet, I found myself in the train's snack bar (board bistro they call it) reading by myself. Three other passengers started up a conversation with each other; none of them had anything to read. I could not help but overhear, and discovered that one young passenger in his 20s was a professional poker player. He came from the Netherlands, and was on his way to the airport, where he would be flying to Colombia. A German passenger remarked that his wife was from Brazil, and they travelled at least once a year to South America, also. Suddenly, the third guy announced that he was from Chile, though he had been raised in Germany.
For the most part, they spoke in German, discussing the culture, the language, etc. Though I was engrossed in my book, and we were somewhat in close quarters, I found it hard not to follow the conversation. Once or twice they had to switch briefly into English, as the Dutch guy could not always explain everything in German. This happens with me from time to time (ok, sometimes quite regularly), too.
At any rate, the trio had just started discussing their annoyance with Americans, which was unfortunate, since I was just about to put my book down and join the conversation. I immediately bristled and returned to reading my book, deciding it best to stay out of the chat. After all, I understood their points, and it is not my place to challenge their opinions. After all, they are simply opinions.
A few minutes later, an Asian man entered the car and ordered something to eat. He spoke English as he ordered, and he ended up joining the conversation with the others; they all switched to English.
We soon reached the next stop, and the Dutchman departed the train, as did the Asian. The other two men started gathering their things, since our stop (they were travelling to Frankfurt, too) would be reached in another few minutes. They started moving towards the exit, leaving me alone in the car.
From the other end of the train car, a man in boots and a hat made his way towards the counter to order a beer. He and I exchanged greetings, as we had seen one another several times over the past couple of weeks. We introduced ourselves and established why we both are regular train travellers on the same train.
After a couple of minutes chat, he, like many others in this country, asked if I wanted to continue the conversation in English. I responded, no, of course not, as we were in Germany. (note - there are only a couple of exceptions where I do not speak German with Germans, and that is another story altogether...)
So, we continued on in German. He then asked me where I came from. I told him, then asked him the same question.
"I come from North Dakota," he smiled.
Well, we switched to English at that point, and we quickly exhanged our stories as to how we both live far away from where we come from.
The brief experience made up for the humbling experience from minutes earlier.
So, last night, as I once again found myself a bit too restless, I got up for a glass of water from the kitchen. I stood in the darkness, in the quiet, then realized that it was raining gently. I opened the balcony door, and stood for a few minutes just enjoying the sound of the rain.
The rain has continued here throughout the morning, but I sit here in peace. You see, rain is simply one of my favorite things.
keep the faith
bryan
