Friday, April 21, 2006


The rain moved in this afternoon and it's falling still. I opened the door for a while just to listen. When I was a child we lived in a mining camp house in the West Pratt community. Our house had asphalt siding that looked a little like brick. The old house had coal fireplaces, vinyl floors, and a tin roof. I can remember lying in bed at night listening to the constant whisper of rain on that roof. The wind would sometimes vary the pitch but it's a sound that even today makes me fall asleep with a smile on my face.
During my time in the tropics while I was in the Army, our barracks didn't have glass in the windows, only screens. During rainy season the wind off the Atlantic would blow misty rain through those windows. Late at night I would stand alone in front of those windows and it made me feel closer to home.
When I started dating Jilda in 1968, her family was quite religious and wouldn't let her go to movies, ballgames, swimming, or most of the places that young folks enjoy. They would let me take her to the Mug and Cone for a chocolate shake or maybe to Randy's Creme Cone in Dora for the best cheeseburger on the planet, but we had to be in the yard before 9 p.m. We didn't get to do a lot of the things our friends got to do, but we sat in her front yard and listened to songs we loved, we talked about our future, and on special nights we watched the rain dance on the windshield of my old Chevy. How could you not love falling rain?

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