I used to love spring rains.

I especially loved the gentle water falling that would soak my yard and that sound so pleasant on the roof. This was especially true as a boy when I would camp out. There is something dangerous yet tamed about being inside a canvass tent with the gentle rain falling on the fabric. It was soothing for my spirit to hear those rain drops.

In 1973 and 1974 I had the privilege of backpacking in New Mexico the first year for 12 days and the second for a full month. (People who know my history probably find that interesting since I was diagnosed with diabetes about 1 month before I left for a 30 day high adventure in New Mexico) Today we would never allow a kid to do that but my mom and dad sort of had an evolutionary approach to child rearing. I know what they were thinking, if he dies we have insurance so it’s ok (LOL). In the mountains in New Mexico it rained every day and that was a special time for me.

Yes I loved spring rains until I was placed in charge of a city sewer system. After that every spring rain brought on a slew of hateful calls. As sewers would flood basements I would receive more and more angry calls. My mother (a wonderful person) could never have done all those things she was being accused of by the callers. Likewise my father and his mother (my beloved grandmother) could not have done those things they were being accused of. Certainly I was not guilty of the offenses of causing rain or making people want to move out of million dollar houses. (Note: everyone’s property values go up when they call city hall, except when they call about property taxes)

Cured

The thing is it took less than about 3 months to cure me of loving spring rains. By the time I was 29 I had come to dislike spring rains which was different than a poem I had written in in high school celebrating the romance of the soft noise of rain beat on the roof. Instead around age 29 my love affair with spring rains was over. One might say I had grown up and put a childish indulgence behind me.

It got a lot worse when I was diagnosed with RA. Suddenly spring rains, heck rain in general, felt personally oppressive. Like maybe, rain was chasing me and wanted to destroy me. I mention all of this because as I write this we are having pop up thunderstorms here in Indiana. Not the all-day type, but the hit and miss, raise the humidity, make things miserable for people type. So today I am dragging around like a man condemned to spend his life in bed. Typing is a chore. My fingers hurt, my back hurts, and my body hurts. I hate rain.

Longing

I used to be young, my body in shape my hands limber. I used to walk 20 miles a day in the mountains, I used to ride my bicycle 50 in a day. Not today, of course. I am sure few 58 year olds can do those things of which I long, but some can and do. My fate is different. I was unable to do those things less than five years after I did. In five years’ time diabetes, college, marriage, a son and most important a sit down job took their toll on my body. Today I might be able to walk half a mile if someone forced me and gave me a day. So why did I have to lose my love of rain?

I so wish my life had allowed me to keep that one childish indulgence. I really want to love rain once again. I really want to feel (I mean feel here in a deep way) something positive about rainfall. I really want to be 16, pre diabetes, pre in charge of sewers and especially pre RA. I want to listen to rain hit my roof and think I get to play in mud puddles, ride my bike in wet streets and get the taste of rain drops on my lips.

Instead what I feel is pain, tiredness, and longing for strength to carry a 70 pound pack up a step mountain. I want to feel the pain in my calves that I put there, just because I am young and strong and self-assured. But today, nearly 41 years after being diagnosed with diabetes and 15 years after being diagnosed with RA, I hate rain.

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