It’s been raining here for days.  Because we live on a hill, we get rain rivers down our driveway and down our street, they gush long the street gutters, sometimes diverted onto the street in wide sheets, the water still making its way downhill.  It’s beautiful, really.  There is ALOT of it today, I don’t know when I’ve seen so much water in the neighborhood.

When the boys were little, we had several very rainy winters in a row.  There was no way to keep them completely inside, and the water was fun.  I have movies of Andy playing outside the kitchen sliding glass doors, catching the water spewing out of the downspout in little buckets, or just letting it land on his boots, mesmerized as only moving water can mesmerize a person.

In desperation to get out of the house, I’d dress them and myself up in rain gear and we’d head down our long driveway to the street, armed with toy boats and cars and anything else that might float, and we’d play in the “rain rivers.”  Some driveways have culverts so we’d let our boats go into the culvert on the high side and hope they’d come out the other end.  Because it would be raining so hard, they always would.

There was a place along the flat part of the neighborhood where a puddle would collect on the side of the road.  It was tradition that on the way to school they would implore me to drive through that puddle making a huge wake and of course I would because I’m so goofy. Sometimes I still do it just for fun even though it’s just me.  Andy is living with us now for awhile, and I’ll bet you anything he’s been doing it too!

The last time it rained I was wistful to see a young mother with her two little ones, boats in hand, dressed in rain gear and boots, playing in the rain rivers.  It  made me feel good that in a world of buy, buy, buy and want, want, want, that something as simple as a rain river can still bring joy to a young mother and her toddlers, and probably always will.

One time we were down at Fisherman’s Wharf on a rainy Sunday.  I don’t think we had expected rain because we really weren’t dressed for it, and we were so wet that it didn’t matter that the boys were stomping through puddles with their shoes on.  It wasn’t a big deal – they were kids sneakers that would dry out eventually and would be outgrown probably sooner than that.  An older woman looked at us with disgust and said something derogatory, I don’t recall what.  I remember feeling so sad for her, wondering what would make her feel that way about three little boys having the time of their lives, laughing and stomping.

Time has moved on so quickly (just as the old ladies told me it would).  I am glad that when I leave the house on these rainy days, the little ones just a distant memory, I can still see them clear as a sunny day, playing in the rain rivers on our street.