The first thunderstorm I remember was in Georgia. I was running through the rain (or near rain?) into the kitchen of our house at Fort Benning. It was green and grey all at once and then I was home in the bright light of the kitchen. I don’t remember the smell of the honeysuckle (not that day anyway- there was honeysuckle behind our house, lots of it) but remember singing “I’m a Little Teapot.” I’m not sure why these memories blur; if they were the same day or not, but alas, memory is not perfect when you are 3 years old. mmm watermelon ice cream from the ice cream man…Brian, does this ring any bells?
My next memory of the rain takes place in Oregon. It was 1980 something and I was at the Temple’s house across the street. Good old DeVos Street where I saw a smushed snake on the road, where I walked with my family to the weird natural structure that now makes me think of the Grand Canyon, where I watched my brother learn to ride his first bike. My mom gathered me and we ran across the street to my white house with the red door (is that right? or am i remembering my red Mini-Mouse tap dance shirt–the routine that I practiced on that front stoop) and I had cheese bread and apples slices and listened to the storm in my living room. It rained a lot in Oregon and there were always icky, icky worms to avoid. I also danced to my Rainbow Brite record in the living room and the stairs were angled and had patchwork carpet. This is supposed to be about the rain, but I’m flooded with memories now. Like the time we pulled up the carpet in the kitchen, my parent’s waterbed, falling asleep in my crumpled bed linens on the floor, the Tickle Monster, a vomit enducing tantrum (throwing up spaghetti on the couch-even though it was hideous- not a good idea.) Bing cherries in a bowl…
Are these experiences where my love of thunderstorms and rain originated? Tonight, I watched clouds darken the sky, lightening brighten the coal once again, and wanted nothing more than to absorb it all. Nature’s excitement and release. Perfect for pondering, loving, reading, and doing all things cozy and indoors. Give me a country cottage with a window seat in rainy country. (but give me a basement or a cellar too please. )
Don’t remember the ice cream flavor, but I do recall the ice cream truck frequenting our neighborhood. Also remember the house in Oregon pretty well. I remember how bad it smelled when the new carpet was put it the kitchen. I remember the cherry trees towards the back of the property. I remember riding my bike all over the place.
Aw!! I remember the green/yellow carpet in the basement, and the brown furniture, and the time we spent in the basement while Dad ripped up the floors and put in hard wood ones. Oh wait, different family memories. Sorry guys, you two made me all sentimental.