Living in the Pacific Northwest, I know a lot about rain: different types of rain, different words for rain, different descriptors. I can relate to the Inuit and Yupik people, who supposedly have hundreds of different words for snow.
However, one of my most memorable experiences of rain happened in Osaka, Japan. I went out for a jog one morning hoping to get my exercise before the rain began. I made it almost up to the Castle (about two miles) before I felt the first raindrops. I pressed on a little farther. I thought, a few drops of water can’t hurt. It might even cool me off. It’s so hot I’m sweaty. By the time I finally turned around the rain was getting serious. I turned down a street lined with small shops. Each had a small awning overhanging the sidewalk where I could get a little shelter. Unfortunately, with the businesses closed the awnings were retracted and covered only about a foot of the sidewalk. I ran from awning to awning and plastered myself against the buildings to stay dry, then dashed to the next.
To say the rain increased in intensity would be an understatement. It was as though someone from the roof was throwing down buckets of water—huge buckets. The water in the gutters began to run over the shallow curb until it was like a river running down the sidewalk. At some point I realized that keeping any part of my body dry was impossible and I made a mad dash for the hotel.
Arriving at the hotel, I stood outside the entrance attempting to wring the water from my clothes. My socks and shoes were waterlogged and entering the lobby, I looked like someone just stepping out of a swimming pool. I casually walked to the elevator across the marble floor, making squishing sounds and leaving huge puddles. The employees and hotel guests were too polite to say anything, but I felt eyes boring holes in my back.
I love rain. It’s what makes our area so lush and green. It’s good. But that day, it was just too much of a good thing.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU ALL, regardless of weather