stealing our thunder
It was a tranquil Sunday afternoon, Mothers' Day, to be precise. Shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds here and there, conjuring dramatic shadows contrasted against an ethereal glow. Dennie set up the zero-gravity chairs and an old table for potting plants, while I gathered beverages and other supplies for dog and humans alike. Tradition is tradition, and ours is to grant ourselves hours of backyard relaxation with our pup and welcome a host of beautiful blooms into their seasonal homes.
The rain wasn't due to start until about 4:30 p.m., affording us plenty of time for playing and planting. Well, 4:30 according to one weather app; two hours later according to another. We could have selected the one we preferred and deluded ourselves into believing we'd successfully postponed the precipitation, but weather doesn't operate that way. In fact, ours rarely aligns with the forecast at all. The most accurate reading we tend to get is from an old analog app known as a window, which, for those unfamiliar with the concept, allows us--as if by magic--to observe the outdoor conditions without experiencing them firsthand. (I'm certain the ancient Romans would be pleased to learn their domus-enhancing invention has survived the test of time.) As far as digital apps and meteorologists go, to be fair, weather is notoriously difficult to predict in this region, so much so, books have actually been published on the subject. My comments are in no way a slight against these prognosticators of climatological conditions, human or otherwise. A forecast can be an immensely useful--even lifesaving--thing. Despite their questionable track record here, we checked our apps. We checked our windows, and, by the looks of it, the weather was on our side, at least for a while.
Looks can be deceiving.
We hadn't been out back for more than ten minutes when I felt the first tiny splat of water against my hand. Then another and another. The sun was still shining, and it was only sprinkling, so we stayed. Even Maisie, who will typically refuse to leave the covered deck during rainfall--light or heavy or anywhere in between--seemed to relish the faintly dewy feel of the lawn. She threw herself onto one side, wiggling, squirming, rolling mirthfully about in the cooling blades of grass, ultimately stopping on her back long enough to graciously accept a series of gratifying belly rubs. Such is the plight of the pampered pooch. (There was also doggie ice cream served. Oh, how our girl suffers!)
Suddenly, a rumble, a distant boom rattled the skies and earth alike. Maisie dashed to my side for comfort, but, much to our surprise, she didn't plead to go into the house. Within a few minutes, she settled contentedly back into the grass. Dennie potted a few more flowers, unhindered by the shutterbug flittering about. (Such nuisances, those infernal creatures!) Gentle raindrops came and went intermittently. Still, Maisie remained, unfazed. Another boom sounded. We carried on, feeling a renewed sense of confidence that, on this day, all the flowers would finally stretch their roots into deeper soil, adorning our deck and patio with cheerful summery bursts of color.
And that's when the clouds darkened and the heavens opened up, stealing our thunder with nothing less than thunder and a steady deluge of rain.
And to all the nurturing women in our lives who have taught us to love, to be kind, to reach for the stars, may this be a truly happy and memorable Mothers’ Day. The card below is for you, but please feel free to share…
