Rain

It has been raining here for four solid days now. I love the rain. It makes it hard to wake up in the morning, but then it's so comforting to sit in the window and watch it while you drink your coffee. I can see my breath outside and I love bundling up in sweaters upon sweaters upon hoodies.
I have a strangely distinct memory from when I was very little about sitting in the rain. I could have been as young as 4 or as old as 8, though I suspect closer to the 4 end of the spectrum. I was outside in our backyard one summer when it began to sprinkle out. I ducked into the rows of corn in my mom's garden as it started to rain harder. I squatted in the dirt, now turning to mud, and saw a chicken pecking around under the cornstalks as well. We were so well protected in there that I felt safe and content to stay there all afternoon.
I suspect this memory is so distinct for two reasons: one, I realized you didn't need to be in a house to be protected. Something as flimsy as a cornstalk could suffice. Two, I had made a conscious decision not to go in the house. To not go inside during rain was unthinkable to most people, but suprisingly, I did not melt.
I remember being at the beach when it started to rain and when all the other kids ran out of the water and under the picnic shelter my mom said, "What, are you afraid of getting wet?" Only if it began to thunder and lighning in earnest would she call us out. So we had the water to ourselves.
I remember living in the little brown house, across the road from the big farm house with the garden, and waking my brother up in the middle of the night when there was a thunderstorm. We dragged blankets and pillows to the large front windows and settled there to watch the lightning until we fell asleep. In the morning my dad told us it wasn't a good idea to sit in front of windows during a storm, but it wasn't a real warning and we continued to do this until we were teenagers.
When I was 14 I went to Madison for a week for 4-H Art Team and one of the first days we were there, it rained all day while we had to troop up and down State Street. At the end of State Street is a fountain in Library Mall. The leader of our group reached in a hand as we walked by and splashed everyone. We were already soaked, so we all started splashing each other and of course, were soon IN the fountain which is terrifically illegal. The chaos ended when my friend Julia (whose friendship I still miss terribly) sat right on top of the jetting streams of water coming out the top of the fountain. Singing, "I'm Only Happy When It Rains," no less.
And I remember last Valentine's Day in Tarrytown, NY, standing with Joe in a beautiful misting rain in front of the church with the stained glass windows designed by Chagall. As we walked toward the restaurant where we were having dinner, which was supposedly just down the street, the rain became torrential. The sidewalk disappeared and soon we were walking on the muddy side of a highway. Sheep watched from behind a stone fence. I had a velvet skirt on that was getting heavier and heavier with every step and Joe was soaked from top to bottom. But when we started yelling at the sheep about how we were going to eat them soon, we just started laughing and didn't stop until we got to the roaring fireplace in the front room of Stone Barn. There's nothing like a fire and alcohol to warm you up.
So I have good feelings whenever it rains.