Friday, March 28, 2008

My father is from Jamaica, and as a child I spent many holidays there. I remember the weight and drenching wetness of that hot rain, as I experienced it in my childhood, not only for itself, but for what it represented for me. In England, rain was thin and cold, and made you hunch up inside your coat, walking home from the bus stop. In Jamaica it was wide and thick and invited you to step into it, and see how wet you could get, and be thrilled that it was warmer than the sea and warmer than your skin; it was abandon.
Sadie Jones, for Powells

While my father is from Jamaica, that isn't what resonates here, as we didn't spend summers there. But this perfectly describes the tropical rains of my home- a friendly, affectionate rain that felt like a warm lake. We'd go mud sliding in it. At the end of the day we'd be cold, but in such a good way.
And once, on a visit here to Dallas, before I lived here, there was a sopping rain. My friend and I stripped off our clothes to run around in the back yard, swimming in the rain. (It was as close to a skinny dip as I've come here.)

1 comment:

some chick said...

that's like the difference between houston rain and san francisco rain.

hey, how was leila's bday party? we're having a princess party and mary judah's going to be cinderella and killian is going to be the prince and everyone is going to go in the garden and dance and we're going to play music and she's going to have a princess cake and everyone is going to be a princess or a prince. everything she wants is pink, sparkly, or a pony.

are you picking up on the theme here?