Thursday, June 23, 2005

I missed it

When I played hooky and went to the movies the other day, it rained. Not a piddly little spatter or spitting here and there from racing clouds, but a true several-hour downpour, complete with hail, flooding, thunder, lightning and rocks. Yes, rocks.

After the movie I went to the east side of town. In the long seemingly endless drive up Academy there were rocks in the road: swaths, curls, loops, swirls, eddies and clumps of rocks of all sizes and types. The rain continued, spatterings interspersed with windshield flooding torrents, as I drove around and through the rocks. At first I thought a gravel truck dropped its load because of a dangling tail gate, but there were too many rocks and they seemed to go on forever. Must have been a fleet of gravel trucks from the quarries, I reasoned.

I was wrong.

I went shopping for some new clothes (haven't done that in ages) and when I paid for my choices the cashier told me she was surprised anyone was out in the rain. "It flooded here in the store, right through the back door," she told me. "It was pouring down. On the TV some guy was standing in water up to his waist." I told her about the rocks and she said it was from the storm.

"It rained rocks?" I asked more than a little incredulously.

"No," she said, laughing. "I've got to remember that one: raining rocks. It flooded and washed all the rocks into the roads."

People should really be more specific when they talk, clearer, less ambiguous.

Anyway, I took my purchases, finished my errands (I really have to get back up there to the gigantic book sale in the warehouse) and drove home in the rain, stopping at the grocery store to pick up the makings for chicken salad for the following day's picnic in the park. On the last leg of the journey, I looked up into the dirty gray lowering sky to see a beautiful rainbow shining bright against the leaden background, a promise of brighter days ahead.

The rain sang me to sleep that night and the clean green smell of rain-washed pine drifted in through the windows on fresh, crisp, cool moist air. Dawn broke in a dazzling display of gold and rose and shimmering white on a lavender screen of sky that slowly blued. Even through bleary, sleep misted eyes, the view was dazzling.

I worked and fidgeted and worked a little more, stopping just before noon to assemble the chicken salad, wash the fruit and pack everything away. The landlady called and said she had something for me, and brought up a big container of pasta salad she made the day before, suggesting I take it with me on the picnic. I did and my companion said it was very good.

While taking a shower, the bath mat slipped and I pitched through the shower curtain onto the floor, banging my head on the toilet seat and the rest of me on various porcelain barriers that found most of the soft tissue on my body, from shoulder blades to right big toe. Wrapping a towel around me, I hobbled into the sun porch to email my friend and ask for a 15-minute delay; he granted it. I was more upset by the curse that slipped my lips and thudded down on the deck where Psycho sat waiting for the landlady than I was about my ignominious tumble to the floor, but I soldiered on, finished dressing, gathered my bags and limped down the stairs, outside and into my car. When I got to the park I limped to the shelter, explained my accident and proceeded to enjoy a most pleasant hour. I brought him food and he brought me napkins, water and Firesign Theatre CDs. He is such a generous fella and he has good taste, too.

After lunch and a couple of errands, I got home in time to chat with Psycho and Landlady for a few minutes, leaving them with Mountain Mama's best gingerbread with baked apples and coconut custard pie just as the truck drove up to deliver...

...wait for it... guessed it: my brand new bed. No more sleeping on a feather bed on the floor.

I pinged my picnic friend to wake him from his training module-induced stupor to tell him the good news, chatted for a moment and then called when he pinged me to tell me he was finished with the last of the training module. While we talked, the idea of a pillow top firm mattress high off the floor taunted me, so I asked him, "Would you like to go to bed with me?"

"What did you say?"

"Would you like to go to bed with me?"


"I'm going to take the phone into the bedroom and lay down on my brand new bed. Want to come with me?"


Was that relief I heard in his agreement? Naw.

The bed is firm and comfy and after I got off the phone I fell blissfully asleep, drifting down into a dream-filled universe of rest and nirvana.

Now I just have to figure out how to put up some guard rails so I don't fall off the bed and find I can't get up like a certain Lynn I know.

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