Being out in the rain just feels wonderful

It is raining outside. Hard. I guess it is a downpour.
I like that rain has different names: cloudburst, sun shower, drizzle. Lots of words.
I’m not a fan of torrential rain when it is cold, but when it is warm a downpour is a wonderful thing. It is like having a shower outdoors, but you have to be out in it. It’s a must.
Standing in a downpour takes practice and concentration to avoid running and shrieking for cover. Try it. It just takes a few seconds and a couple of shivers, then count to 20 and tip your chin up and let the rain wash down your face and trickle in your mouth.
Don’t think about pollution and acid rain and all things of that nature; just focus on feeling refreshed. The experience will restore your positive attitude and put a bounce in your step—I promise.
A warm fall rainy day is best because it is like a gift, an unexpected pleasure, like finding a five-dollar bill in your winter coat when you dig it out of the back of your closet.
I used to worry about wet clothes, as if I was breaking some rule by allowing my perfectly dry clothes to get soaked. Maybe that’s the best part of all this, the rule-abandoning part, the carefree attitude that makes everything seem quite manageable.
I realize that is a bit contradictory, but if you consider running in the rain as a wonderful okay endeavour, then everything else falls into place behind you in importance.
I love my rubber boots, too. I used to have some fabulous yellow ones that required a bit of saving before I could buy them, but they were worth every penny. I wore them for almost a hundred years before they finally gave out, but they had served me well.
Whenever I wore them, I felt compelled to sing “Robin in the Rain.” You remember that song, don’t you? Oh, I hope you do. The song with Raffi’s deliciously peculiar voice?
“Robin in the rain, such a saucy fellow. Robin the rain, mind your socks of yellow.”
You get it now. Go to You Tube or iTunes or do whatever you have to do, but listen to “Robin in the Rain” and you will want to run out in the rain and throw your arms around as though you are Julie Andrews on top of a mountain (I guarantee it).
I suppose if you live in Vancouver or somewhere in India (that I cannot pronounce, let alone spell, which receives more than 41 feet of rain and, without converting to metric, is quite obvious a lot of rain), you might grow weary of running in the rain. But perhaps it would make the endless rainfall more tolerable and people would smile more.
Speaking of smiling, it is not possible to frown when your face is turned up to the rain; it can’t be done. It’s a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, only harder.
Did you know the umbrella was first created to protect a person from the heat of the sun; a sort of mobile shade, if you will? Come to think of it, I have not often carried an umbrella.
I have one tucked away in my truck for . . . what else . . . a rainy day, but I never use it. Probably because I never remember the umbrella is there, but I’m going to say because I’d rather just be in the rain.
It’s not as if I have an important appointment with the Queen and it wouldn’t be appropriate to arrive wet.
Anywhere I am going would be just fine to arrive drenched—my hair pressed into my head; my mascara (if I wore any) smeared and running down my face.
You’ll have to excuse me. I must find my rubber boots and head outdoors before the rain stops and do my best impression of Gene Kelly “Singin’ in the Rain,” except he sang in a mixture of water and milk so the rain would show up on film.
I think that’s cheating, but probably tasty.
wendistewart@live.ca

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