My secret is out, and there is no way to hide it from my friends and family. I am a pluviophile. Yes, I admit that I am a pluviophile. There, now that I’ve said it, it doesn’t seem so bad.
Before you do either of two things… shoot a nasty email to the editors about my unseemly language or hastily look up the definition on Google.
I will tell you what it means. A pluviophile is someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days. I adore the rain, and since the Valley so desperately needs it, I adore it even more these days. When the gentle drops start falling, my heart is consumed with joy.
So much so, I feel compelled to send God a little thank you note:
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Hope you are well. You are the best ever. Thanks so much for sending me some rain. It feels like little drops of peace are falling on my head.
Give mom and dad a hug for me.
Hope to see you soon, ummm but not real soon (haha made you laugh).
I’m uncertain about the ZIP code, so instead of the thank you note, I blow God a kiss. I’m sure he gets it.
As I sipped my morning cup of coffee, I stood outside and looked at the beautiful, cloudy sky. I smelled the fresh crispness of the air, and the light mist of rain on my face.
This triggered so many beautiful memories. I decided to hop right into “Linell’s Way Back Machine.” I took my coffee with me because you should never waste a good cup of coffee.
Suddenly, I was a kid on Kings Street in Chowchilla again, playing in the rain. I can hear my mom say “Put on a coat!” as I bolt out the front door in a tremendous hurry to get to the rain that I love so much.
My parents didn’t worry about my two brothers and I playing in the rain. In fact, they encouraged us to play outside, explore life and go on adventures at every opportunity.
I did that with my children, too. When it rained, I would excitedly run into their rooms and get them out of bed. We would then run outside and dance in the rain. It was delightful. Both of my grown children still dance in the rain. I do, too.
Rainy days with my brothers were the most fun, though. I can see my brothers’ faces as we engage in a battle of mud-puddle wars. We would jump into puddles and splash them to the sky. The point was to splash as much mud from the puddle as possible onto each other. The dirtiest kid was the loser. I was always the dirtiest kid, but I felt like a winner.
We would move from mud-puddle wars to worm wars. I can hear our slightly evil laughter as we picked up worms and threw them at each other. (I was never much of a girly girl). This was not my favorite game, but I could sling a worm with the best of them.
When we would tire of battling each other with mud and worms, we would go to the street gutter. I can hear the rain gurgling as I picture me and my brothers squatting down to race our little boats made of construction paper and twig and leaf sails.
Best of all, I can feel the absolute joy of spreading my arms to the sky, throwing my head back, and sticking my tongue out to catch the raindrops. That was the time when all was right in my world and for that moment in time, I was a pluviophile right down to the ground.
We were kids playing the rain. We didn’t need iPhones, computers, television, or Xboxes. I am sad that kids today don’t get to play in the rain the way that we did back then. I think they are missing out on the secret of life…finding joy in the simple things.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if we were all pluviophiles, if we could all take a moment out of our busy lives to throw our heads back and catch raindrops on our tongues? If we could remember that some of the best times in life are the not connected to things but to people?
Sometimes all you need in life is a little rain and a little imagination.
Thanks for the rain, God. And in the words of Bob Hope, “Thanks for the memories.”