The day the rain stopped

The last rain fell on July 10. They were saying that was it, it would be a long time before it came back. When the rain ends in Seattle it’s like time stops—and when it returns it’s like an old friend, you pick up where you left off. I walked to the bus stop without an umbrella (it was just a fine mist) and sat huddled in the back with the others on the bus, shifting from side to side in the dark, the automated voice calling out each stop. We would look back on this day and miss it.

At work on my afternoon walk I passed the Nintendo HQ, young workers with tats and jeans: today, two guys walking side by side, one with blue hair, the other, a beard he’d dyed red. They reminded me of a child’s story by P.D. Eastman, the one about two dogs who go camping (Fred and Ted): one blue, the other red. And I had to laugh but then I got sad, remembering reading that book to my kids, imagining when they’d be old enough to camp—and now they were, but not interested anymore. And when I counted the weekends we had free still, there were maybe four. We would look back on these days and miss them. But when they’d come home, it would be like they never left.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in Memoir, parenting and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

21 Responses to The day the rain stopped

  1. kingmidget says:

    Yes … there are lots of days I look back at with regret. All of the missed opportunities and chances. One of my parental regrets is that I didn’t make more time for camping and hiking, for getting my boys out there into the world. But between work and school and their sports teams and everything else, it just seemed like something that was insurmountable — just another mountain that needed to be climbed and I had nothing left to climb that mountain with them.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sometimes all it takes is oddly-colored hair and blamo. Right down the rabbit hole. I’m old enough to be nostalgic about my kids. They’re that old now.

    Like

  3. ksbeth says:

    yes, indeed. like the welcome and comfortable return of an old, familiar friend.

    Like

  4. Yup, Barbie dolls. I am still holding onto a crate of them, waiting to see if the granddaughter will be the next-generation to play with the Barbies.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. “slather the maple syrup of regret and remorse” 🙂 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. The small and joys of a charming life, we admire them as it flits by us….a heartwarming account, my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Hi Vishal and thank you! Hope you are enjoying the start of your week. I’m still waking up, not doing well doing so (we don’t do well when it gets hot here). Hope you’re well, Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Mist and misty eyes.
    Nice.

    Liked by 1 person

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