right rain

It rains in Florida - a lot. Remember when you were a kid, seven or eight years old, and you'd be outside playing when a rain storm would blow in. You didn't let it slow you down at all, you just changed your play to match the weather. Heck, mom wouldn't even call you in unless there was local lightning. When I was coming out of the grocery store today it was pouring rain. Along with a dozen or so other customers I huddled in the entryway wondering when it would let up. Then it dawned on me. Life is short and you can never know when it might be your last chance to "play" in the rain. So I set out for my car, not scampering but walking normally, enjoying the splash of the rain on my head and face and intentionally walking right through the deepest puddles. When I got to the car I didn't rush to jump inside. I opened the passenger side door and placed the bags on the floorboard. Then I walked casually around to the driver's side and got into the car. I sat there for a moment thinking about what I had just done. I had leaped backward in time more than six decades to do something that would never enter the mind of most reasonable adults. And as I sat there soaked from head to toe, socks squishing in my shoes, a trickle of rain water meandering its way down my butt crack, it occurred to me that here I was, a soggy, miserable, old geezer cursing himself for not remembering to carry an umbrella into the store in the first place.