Saturday, January 26, 2008

Singing in the rain

I grew up in Mississippi. Yup, about as deep South as you can get. In the summer it was hot. Not Southern California sunny day hot. But fry an egg on the hood of your car hot. Seriously. We tested that funny saying and it always worked. At the time we had nothing to compare our summers, too. Summer was hot and we went swimming and we wore skimpy clothes and we drank cold beer. We didn't know better.

I didn't realize how painfully hot it was until I lived in another state for several years and then went back home to Mississippi in July. Whew. Only then did I understand when people complained about the humidity.

But my story tonight is about a rainy day. A hot, rainy day in Mississippi. The rain itself was hot!

So what did we do? We got nekkid. Or partially naked I should say. And we danced in the rain. We hooted and hollered and danced. And it really wasn't a sexual thing. It was child's play. We were silly kids again without worrying how we looked or what others thought.

Tonight I'm nearly 40 and it is raining, but the water's cold here. And I wouldn't dream of dancing in the rain. The neighbors might see me. I'd be too self-conscious. Mr. C would definitely roll his eyes, no?

But I'm remembering when the rain called to me. And made me free.

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