Taste of rain

I was halfway thru my first lap on the three-quarter mile track when the first drops of rain hit my skin, one on my right arm and one on my face, right in the middle of “Brass Monkey,” jarring me from my iPod induced trance.

Within seconds, it was pouring. My first inclination was to throw myself into the fetal position, using every bit of clothing and body mass I had to protect Nan until the rain stopped. But she was in her iPod cover, and tucked underneath my shirt, so I thought she would be OK.

My next inclination was to throw up my hands and scream, “Why! Why does it wait to rain until the minute I start running?” But I refrained.

And then something happened.

I found myself enjoying the rain. I didn’t speed up. Instead I continued to run at my usual pace, listening to the quiet noise the rain made falling thru the trees, feeling its coolness hit my skin.

By the time I got back around to the parking lot, I was drenched. My clothes felt heavy. I wanted to laugh. Part of me wanted to keep running.

Slowing to a walk, I looked heavenward and opened my mouth, letting the raindrops hit my tongue. It reminded me of being a kid. It reminded me I was alive.

I don’t know when or where my sometimes frustration with rain began. But today I remembered something I knew all along. There are much worse things in life than getting caught in the rain.

Sometimes there’s nothing better.

“I hear it talking through the trees and on the window pane. When I hear it I just can’t believe I never liked the rain…”

September Saturdays

Football season starts today! In celebration–and also thanks to Labor Day–I’m in the midst of a four-day weekend. By the way, how long does a weekend have to be before it stops becoming a weekend? I mean, if I took Tuesday off as well, would that be a five-day weekend? At some point, don’t you just have to say you took a week off?

Football doesn’t signal the beginning of Fall, but serves more as a harbinger of it. Summer is slowly tiring. The weather is still hot, but the days are growing shorter. Today, we’ll be in shorts and short sleeves. But soon, we’ll be in jeans and long sleeves, the familiar autumn chill evoking thoughts and memories and feelings as only it can.

Today the population of Tuscaloosa will swell from 80,000 to 180,000 or more. People will arrive hours before kickoff. Some arrived days in advance. The streets will be buzzing with activity, the campus redolent with the smell of barbecue and burgers.

The stadium will be packed in anticipation not just of a new season, but of a new coach and a new era, hopefully one that awakens feelings and memories of an earlier time.

They’ll strike up the band and the players will run onto the field, a sea of crimson spreading across the lush green. Both occurrences will elicit cheers from the crowd while at the same time bringing chill bumps to many in attendance.

There will be sons and daughters attending their very first game, and others who haven’t missed a game in years. They’ll sit next to each other, young and young at heart, decked out in their crimson, gray, and white, donning their houndstooth caps.

But all will share the same burning hope and desire. To watch the Tide roll on a Saturday evening in Tuscaloosa.

“Well, there’s a football in the air, across a leaf blown field. Yeah, and there’s your first car on the road, and the girl you’d steal…”

The fever

The First Ever Roast-A-Bone is coming Thursday. Stay tuned for details…

On US Highway 98, just east of Destin, between Miramar and Santa Rosa, sits a little cafe called The Donut Hole. It’s become tradition that on the day we leave the beach, we stop there for breakfast.

I recommend the southwestern omelet. And the doughnuts, of course. I always get a box of doughnuts for the road. The food is great. The service sometimes lacking because it’s so busy. But I’ve never been when there wasn’t a line of people out the door and down the side of the building waiting.

I wish I was there.

There’s a beachside restaurant called The Back Porch, with big bay windows to let in the ocean breeze, an outside bar, and picnic tables in the sand. I recommend the dreamsicle cake for dessert. And any and all of the seafood. You’ll think they must have caught it that morning. And maybe they did.

I wish I was there.

There’s an empty spot in the sand, just at the edge of the uprush, perfect for sitting. Where the water might wash over your feet once every five or six waves. Where you can bury your toes in the cool, damp sand, and think about anything and everything. Or nothing at all. And even though it’s only a few hundred feet to the highway, it seems a million miles away.

I wish I was there.

I’ve got beach fever, if you can’t tell. The highs have been between 60 and 70 here for seemingly the past week. I’ve been driving with the sunroof open, even at night. And last night before the storms moved in, it was warm and very windy, and reminded me of the ocean breeze.

So I’ve been listening to Buffett and thinking about the beach. The sand. The breeze. The waves. Gorgeous American girls working on their tans. All the while, me having no clue as to whether they are 16 or 29.

Last night, I opened the window so I could listen to it rain. Seemed like it rained for twelve hours. That’s another good thing about the beach. Even when it rains, it never seems to last very long.

I wish I was there.

“I remember Sunday mornings, walking on the beach. And that place we’d stop for breakfast, with the old red vinyl seats…”

One man’s dusting is another man’s blizzard

Well, I’m on new Blogger now. Not by choice. I was forced to switch over, or never post on my blog again.

While attempting to sign in today, I was rather rudely informed that I would no longer be able to sign in using my old Blogger account. Apparently they have all the kinks worked out of the new Blogger. (Pause for laughter.) And now they are requiring everyone to switch over.

Nevermind that new Blogger is not able to be imported to WordPress. Or that it seems to have even more issues than old Blogger. Or that after I switched, several of my comments are now showing up as anonymous.

This must be what it feels like to live under a totalitarian regime.

Blogger: The North Korea of the Blogosphere. (Copyright 1999-2007, Google.)

It snowed!

Here!

Last night!

Sure, it was in the forecast. But it’s been in the forecast before. To wit, one of the local weathermen has predicted snow three times in the last week. This despite the fact I don’t think it has snowed here three times in the past five years.

Shortly after midnight, I looked out the window to see if it was doing anything yet. And it was! Snow was falling. Like beautiful flakes of crystalized ice come down from heaven. I put on jeans, an old sweatshirt, socks and shoes, and ran downstairs and outside, knowing it might not last long.

Have I mentioned how much I love snow before? Well, perhaps here. And maybe here. And I suppose this might have given some clue. But if you didn’t already know, I love the snow! It’s beautiful and inspiring, exhilarating and peaceful, all at once.

I tried to take some pictures. Taking pictures of the snow at night is not the easiest thing. Not to mention the weird feeling that came with using the flash at 1:00 in the morning. This is about the best one I got:

The snow was a long-awaited, wonderful treat. It fell for about an hour, covering the rooftops and most of the cars. I stayed up until after 1:30 watching it, until it changed over to sleet.

This morning when I woke up, the sleet had changed to rain. And the snow was all but gone. I felt like Moses on Mount Nebo. As if I’d been given a glimpse of the promised land, but never got a chance to play in it.

Still, having seen it’s majestic beauty, I can now die in peace.

“If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world…”