Slim Randles is here as today’s Wednesday’s Guest with an entertaining story about rain and storms. When was the last time you said “thank you” for the rain?
Before I turn the blog over to Slim, however, I do want to take a moment to remember my father who died on April 1, 2010. I’ll never forget the phone call from my sister and the first thing she said, “Maryann, this is no April Fool’s joke.” What a bittersweet memory.
R.I.P. Popso.
Since these are trying times for body and soul, perhaps a bit of chocolate is in order. I’m willing to share. Enjoy…
It began as a whispered threat, this latest storm of ours. There was something in the air, a cleansing tonic, a murmur of sharpness.
The trees on the hills looked different, then, seeming to stand out in sharper focus, in cleaner profile. It was the magical paintbrush of a gentle sun brushing the front of them, against an ominous, creeping black background. And the blackness grew higher yet, until the western sky was a massive wall of black and swirling gray.
People stood outside and looked, and tried to find a weather report on the radio, and called in the children from play, and made sure the windows were rolled up in the cars, and let the dogs come in. In the fields, the cattle and horses trotted around, snorting softly as the dark sky swallowed our world.
And then it came, gently at first as a reminder to get in the house, then the wind brought buckets of rain, drenching the deep grass and slashing at our homes. Cars in town slowed to a crawl under the onslaught. People parked and then dashed to the nearest building, wondering as they did, just what was so important that they had to be out this afternoon.
We flinched with every flash of lightning, every smashing thunder. In the cafés, patrons looked out at the parking lots now turned into waterfalls and nodded as though in wisdom.
“Think it’ll rain?”
“If it don’t it’ll miss a good chance.”
We listened for something else, too, hoping it wouldn’t come. As the storm shut us down to tiny worlds inside, we kept one ear cocked for the tornado siren. Nothing.
Good.
The storm lasted for two rinses down at the Curl Up ‘N Dye beauty parlor, through a light trim at Kelley’s Barber Shop, and half a chicken-fried steak at the Mule Barn truck stop. Then it was over except for the gutters running like trout streams, the new sun contrasting with the blackness of the rest of the sky, and the dripping of our world.
We won’t have to water the lawn today.
Life is good.
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Brought to you by Ol’ Jimmy Dollar, Slim’s children’s book about a happy hound-dog man and his “kids.” See it at riograndebooks.com.
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In addition to hosting a radio show, Slim Randles writes the nationally syndicated column, “Home Country” that is featured in 380 newspapers across the country. He is also the author of a number of books including Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing. That title, and others, are published by LPD Press. If you enjoy his columns here on the blog, you might want to check out the book Home Country. It features some of the best of the columns he has shared with us, as well as the 4 million readers of the newspapers where his columns appear.
What a awesome picture painted with words. I remember answering my phone one day and hearing you say, “just listen”. I did. Coming through the wires was “In The Garden”, sung so beautifully by your Dad
and you. What a gift!
I remember that time he sang the song for you. Since it was your mom’s favorite song for me to sing to her, I knew it would be special for you to hear it.