Category Archives: rain

On a rainy day in Central Texas

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The proverbial rainy day arrived today in central Texas. I personally don’t remember the last time we had a rainy day. Once in awhile we get a gully washer, but today the rain fell slowly and frequently, soaking the ground that was parched and dry, cracked by a merciless sun. My grass, like my soul, had long since turned to a dry, burnt straw, the bushes looked sad and wilted. It is hard not to feel stressed when the temperature is over one hundred degrees. Even the trees were looking a little stressed, except for the olive trees which thrive in the dead hot weather of central Texas. I was startled by rain drops falling on the roof. It was a surprising sound because we just hadn’t heard it in so long. Puddles were everywhere, and a few sprinkler systems cincally continued to water as the rain fell. The gray skies and liquid precipitation put a damper on today’s activities, but that was okay. Slowing down is not a bad thing, but our 24/7 cultures makes it a bad thing. The temperatures were twenty degrees cooler today than they were yesterday, and the air conditioning did not have to strain today to keep the house cool. I opened the windows for awhile, and the temperatures will dip into the 60’s tonight. So today was a day to take stock, slow down, read a book, cook, do a little cleaning, find the top of my desk. The rain was not shy, but it was blind, falling equally of the just and the unjust alike. The ground, a dry sponge, was so dry that none of the rain was running off or pooling on the ground. This life-giving rain was like a soothing balm on a parched soul, an oasis in the middle of August. Central Texas was beginning to look a bit desert-like since all the road ditches were brown, burned and dusty. Water is essential for all plants and animals, and the summer sun had dried out the earth and left it scorched and empty. People were resorting to dumping enormous quantities of fresh water on their grass to keep it green because Mother Nature was not cooperating in the least. The rain today was very spring-like, resuscitating a dead earth and giving all its inhabitants a little taste of hope. Hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things. We need sun, but too much of even a good thing is not good for anyone. The rain today revives the weary soul that has been hiding from the heat and sun for months. The temperatures go down, the rain falls, the earth drinks of a crystalline, cool bounty which means that we will be here for at least another day. I know that tomorrow the sun will come out, the temperatures will go up, and little will have changed, but today we all got a chance to breath, to rest, to dream, to imagine for a moment that there are other realities than the hot, dry weather of central Texas.

On a rainy day in Central Texas

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The proverbial rainy day arrived today in central Texas. I personally don’t remember the last time we had a rainy day. Once in awhile we get a gully washer, but today the rain fell slowly and frequently, soaking the ground that was parched and dry, cracked by a merciless sun. My grass, like my soul, had long since turned to a dry, burnt straw, the bushes looked sad and wilted. It is hard not to feel stressed when the temperature is over one hundred degrees. Even the trees were looking a little stressed, except for the olive trees which thrive in the dead hot weather of central Texas. I was startled by rain drops falling on the roof. It was a surprising sound because we just hadn’t heard it in so long. Puddles were everywhere, and a few sprinkler systems cincally continued to water as the rain fell. The gray skies and liquid precipitation put a damper on today’s activities, but that was okay. Slowing down is not a bad thing, but our 24/7 cultures makes it a bad thing. The temperatures were twenty degrees cooler today than they were yesterday, and the air conditioning did not have to strain today to keep the house cool. I opened the windows for awhile, and the temperatures will dip into the 60’s tonight. So today was a day to take stock, slow down, read a book, cook, do a little cleaning, find the top of my desk. The rain was not shy, but it was blind, falling equally of the just and the unjust alike. The ground, a dry sponge, was so dry that none of the rain was running off or pooling on the ground. This life-giving rain was like a soothing balm on a parched soul, an oasis in the middle of August. Central Texas was beginning to look a bit desert-like since all the road ditches were brown, burned and dusty. Water is essential for all plants and animals, and the summer sun had dried out the earth and left it scorched and empty. People were resorting to dumping enormous quantities of fresh water on their grass to keep it green because Mother Nature was not cooperating in the least. The rain today was very spring-like, resuscitating a dead earth and giving all its inhabitants a little taste of hope. Hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things. We need sun, but too much of even a good thing is not good for anyone. The rain today revives the weary soul that has been hiding from the heat and sun for months. The temperatures go down, the rain falls, the earth drinks of a crystalline, cool bounty which means that we will be here for at least another day. I know that tomorrow the sun will come out, the temperatures will go up, and little will have changed, but today we all got a chance to breath, to rest, to dream, to imagine for a moment that there are other realities than the hot, dry weather of central Texas.

On the road

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Did you ever have one of those days? We are all sojourners, travelers on the road, trying like mad to just get home. The road is filled with bumps, potholes, detours, road construction, traffic jams, unexpected delays, breakdowns, stops for lunch, all-nighters via Atlanta, tickets, tolls, and passengers. We all think we know where we are going, but do we really? I see people speed by me all the time as if they knew where they were going, but they were only going to the next stoplight. We have maps, directions, signs, landmarks, street signs, flashing arrows, advice, notes, and the stray fingerpost indicating the way home. Some people are not going home and spend their entire lives running away from home as if they knew something we do not. Some people are searching day and night for the way to enlightenment, which they substitute for home. Halfway through my life I found myself lost, the main road was nowhere in sight, and I found myself deep inside a scary, frightening forest, dark and cold. I heard strange noises of wild beasts and strange colored birds. I was completely lost and didn’t know what to do. My maps were useless, there was no cell coverage, no data plan, and there was no one to ask. I was utterly alone–friends and acquaintances were nowhere to be found. How could this have happened? I had always planned so well, left a proverbial trail of crumbs wherever I went, but all of that was for nothing. I walked along, shivering and cold. Night was falling, and the air smelled like rain. A cold breeze was blowing in the trees. Should I move on, search for some indication of direction, or should I sit down on this boulder and cry? Maybe I should climb a tree to get a better view of the land and figure out where I was. The area I was in seemed abandoned and had a prehistoric look to it–no path, no signs of human habitation at all. I sneezed and felt miserable. I was tired. One plans and studies, works and saves, dedicates time to planning for the road, and here I was, lost, tired and desperate. It is on these dark nights when the soul yearns for a direction that will lead it home. I always thought I was in control, that I could do things to insure a certain outcome, that I could manipulate my destiny. But here I am, out of bounds, in the woods, off the road, threatened by who knows what wild animals. I suppose I could tear through the woods like a crazy person, hoping I was going in the right direction. I could just sit here and choose immobility as a mode of transportation. Or I could just start wandering around and hope they I see something that I recognize and find my way back. I haven’t seen anyone in days and I’m starting to question my own judgment. Am I hallucinating? I hope I make it out of here.

On Casablanca (1942, movie)

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The first time I saw this movie was in a nasty old movie theater in Madrid where the customers smoked in the theater while drinking cans of beer that they bought out of plastic tubs in the lobby from a guy who looked a hundred and six, but was really forty-five. The year was 1980, and the last vestiges of the old regime were still lurking around in dark corners like wild dogs. The print of the movie was horrendous–scratched, patched and worn out. There were subtitles in Spanish that only proved that the person translating the dialogue didn’t know English, and he didn’t want to learn English, either. So I sat there in the dark with my three cans of beer and watched Rick and Ilsa fall in love in Paris, I watched her walk into his gin-joint in Casablanca, I watched Rick tell Ilsa to get on that plane and support her husband because “I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.” He’s in tears, she’s in tears, and you know they will probably never, ever see each other again. She walks with her husband to the plane knowing that that part of her life is over. I know the film was made on cardboard sets in Hollywood. The movie theater stunk, the film was worn out, the beer was warm, but none of that mattered. I was enthralled by what I consider to be one of the top ten movies of all time. Ilsa is beautiful, erotic, passionate, and crazy-in-love with two very similar guys. Rick is cynical and tough, believes in nothing, trusts no one, but he’s a romantic and a sentimentalist. The rest of the ensemble is brilliant as they orbit the stars. The entire film is bathed gently in a thousand tones of gray that wrap the characters gently in their soft shadows. Gray is so pervasive in this film that the entire final scene is played out against a thick fog which completely erases any need for scenery at all. Finally, the bad guys have been thwarted, the good guys have flown away on a plane, and the hero and his plucky sidekick walk off into the foggy night. The ending is not neat, a million threads are left hanging, but the cynic has conquered his cynicism just a bit and perhaps has even found a little bit of himself again. Anyone claiming their nationality to be “Drunkard” can’t have too many ideals or dreams left. I left the theater smelling of stale cigarette smoke, rancid beer, and old sweat, but I knew I had witnessed something very special, and every time I see Casablanca now, I admire it that much more. As Rick would say, “I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.”