Thursday, April 30, 2009

It's Raining, it's Pouring, the Old Man is Snoring...

As the twangs of Jon Bon Jovi's guitar filled my ears, my eyes began to shake off the morning routine and come in to focus. Caught in the thrill of the mundane; the habit of shuffling to my semi-rusty GEO, climbing in with a sigh, straightening my pants legs (because I always seem to get that annoying crease directly under my thigh which if not tended to early on, will surely result in pins and needles 10 minutes down the road) I set off on my day. Often times I end up at work with not much recollection of the journey I took in getting there. Today, however, is different.

..."I drive all night..just to get back home. I'm a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. I'm wanted, dead or alive..." Yes Bon Jovi. You are. As the haze of early morning lifts, my hand reaches for the knob on my factory installed AM/FM Radio. For once my head cries for the silence. With a 'click', I'm returned to my reality. I focus on the red light and close my eyes for a moment - drinking in the richness of life around me.

I hear the steady pounding of the rain upon the roof of my car. Without hesitation a smile spreads across my face. This's soo...comforting...

My mind opens to a scene of bright green nylon canvas above me. The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance that causes squeals of fear mixed with excitement. Two girls, roughing it in their parent's backyard - but to us it was the thrill of the adventure. The belief that we were pioneers with only our wits to keep us alive. Well, that coupled with the fact that my Mom always left the back door unlocked for us access to "food and supplies" in the kitchen!

Rainy nights were the best nights for camping outside. The steady beating of the drops of rain, rocking you to sleep... The thick damp moisture of the morning air on your face... Usually followed by the discovery that the tent had in fact leaked, and your sleeping bag and pillow were now soaked. None of that seemed to matter much, though, in the atmosphere of childhood adventure..

Green Light. Go. I'm driving again, lulling myself back into the usual practice of a Thursday morning. Again, revived by the sound of my windshield wipers as they heartily go about redirecting the water from my windshield. Steady is the rhythm....

In the back seat of my Mother's old two-toned blue car I sat, buckled in my seatbelt, smiling. I knew that whenever it rained as we were going for a ride, my Mom would sing. My thick white tights bunched up as I kicked my feet around...waiting. Unable to keep still. Car rides were my favorite and my little body was unable to contain my delight - anything below my waist kicked and squirmed with pure joy. The fixed low tocking of the wiper motor created the metronome to our song...

"Windshield wipers wipe the windshield
wipe the water from the pane
this way that way
this way that way
this way that way
in the rain."

When exactly is it that we grow up? When do we lose the uncontaminated ecstasy that comes with taking the time to drink in the little things?

And so...before I opened up the door to the shop, where I'd punch in and continue my day, I hesitated. Letting the rain drop down on my hair - not caring how it would look, I took a sip of the day that was all around me...and laughed.


chen said...

I love this story.
Love it.