Monday rainfall

The incessant heat was momentarily broken by delicious, fat drops of rain falling hotly on the tin roof of The House in the Middle of the Street as I woke, turning my tired sigh of an impending Monday morning into a pleasure-filled one. It rained, heavy and strong, for a short while, interspersing rain clouds with golden sunshine and rainbows to make leprechauns leap.

You could almost hear the plants yelling out in delight and the soil slurping greedily. Almost.

A visit to church

It rained on Saturday night. A lashing, crashing, fighting storm of wind and water, throwing themselves at my window. It was the kind of night that you are really grateful to have a house and a warm bed to snuggle in, and a couple of DVDs to watch (please note, Four months, 3 weeks, 2 days, the Romanian film, while very good, is by no means a light-hearted little Saturday night movie.) The plan was for an early night and an early rise. To go to church.

Yes, I said it… to go to church. The last time I went to church, other than for weddings/christenings/funerals was, I think, in 1993, when I trundled off with my best friend K at university to see what the beautiful Catholic church looked like. It was more an architectural visit, than a spiritual one, I’m afraid.

My religious affiliations lie, well, all over the place. I’m not a believer of organised religion, although I do believe there’s something out there, bigger than us. I don’t believe that it is a judgemental presence spouting petty laws as I think are spouted in many religions by humans claiming to know these things (and here I generalise terribly, forgive me.) I do believe that church supplies a community which many people enjoy, and need. Other’s dont, and shouldn’t be chastised for that decision.

You get the idea, I don’t want this to turn into a sermon! Snigger. Back to Sunday. I decided to go to church (and the Afrikans, I thought conservative, type too) because G had said she’d like to go to the beautiful old church in her university town with an amazing organ in it and I asked if I could join her. Mainly to listen to the organ, but also to see what attracts her (and others) to it.

So off we set on a temperamentally-weathered morning. We left early, before the world woke. It was all washed clean and shiny and gorgeous, with rain interspersed with flashes of sunlight. We stopped on the way for a Wimpy burger and coffee (my favourite breakfast… sis!) and arrived early at the church. It had rained, a lot, on our way, but as we arrived, the rain stopped, allowing a comfortable, and dry little trip from car to church.

It was beautiful, with stained glass windows through which the sun shone (until there was another, HUGE, downpour) and the organ music filled me like a cup of warm tea. They sang. A lot. And the (lady!) minister delivered a very interesting sermon. And then the rain moved away so we could get dryly back to the car, and it was calm. That’s it, I think, there’s a sense of calm in the organised structure of it.

I had more to say, but the words aren’t forming. I think I’ll just think some more. I called my mother on the way home. She is a church-goer, of the Anglican persuasion. This was the conversation:

Shiny: Hi mum, I’ve just been to church with G.
Shiny’s Mum: What? Tell her she’s achieved the impossible. Didn’t you get rained on, it’s pouring?
Shiny: Nope, the rain stopped when we got out of the car, came back while we were in church, and stopped again when we came out.
SM: You see? God was looking after you.

Well, yes, quite. I’ve always believed the Bigger Presence is a generously kind being.

More weekend stories to come. It's not every weekend you watch an implosion!

Rain drops on noses

It rained yesterday. And by rain I mean huge fat drops that poured out of the sky in herds. There was an incredible amount of water. At one point my back garden couldn’t cope anymore, so it filled up with water, creating a rather lovely water feature in which I could’ve thrown some trout. I didn’t, though, but only because I didn’t have any trout lying around. Otherwise I would have.

The Pond and I had a marvellous day in the kitchen while the rain pelted onto the tin roof. There was a vague sound on the ceiling above the stove (which leads up, I think, to the chimney), it was kind of like the sound big drops of water falling onto ceiling-type material would make. Myself, I decided it was some small animal hopping on one foot in a Small Animal Rain Ritual. They happen often you know, those rituals. Lucky it was one of those too, as it means that I don’t have to worry about leaks, insurance and such.

At about five o’clock there was a gap in the clouds, so we took an amble to the pub down the road for a drink. It has wonderful big windows which allowed us a good view of outside. As we arrived, the heavens opened. And they didn’t close again.

A little while later we realised that we had a choice to make – to sleep overnight in the pub, or brave the rain. We, surprisingly, chose the latter, after discussing the (dis) comfort of having to sleep on a wooden table. Even using our mittens and hats as pillows, the prospect did not appeal.

So we hurtled through the rain at first and then realised how lovely it actually was, so we slowed down and turned our heads to the sky, sticking our tongues out and letting the fat, sweet bulbs of water land on them. I haven’t done that for years. We giggled like children and got home, drenched and happy.

Oh, and did I tell you? I might’ve mentioned it (Once? Twice? A gazillion times?) The babies are coming! This Friday! I am leaving on Wednesday for The Big Smoke. Is it possible to get more excited?

Melancholic joy

I have been a blog voyeur for, oh, probably 4 years now. It provides The Great Escape from hours of tedium at work. It's not that I don't like what I do, it's just that it can be a bit black-and-white at times. I find my creative side cowering beneath my desk sometimes, staring up at me disconsolately between the wires connecting my computer to the electricity supply, looking petrified. As if it might be killed by a falling pile of reference books. (This is not essentially an invalid fear - the shelves holding up the books are starting to look a bit dodgy as old editions are replaced with new ones, made heavy by added information). But back to the point - forgive me, I am easily distracted. The voyeur bit - I have always contemplated starting my own blog. I've even written my first entry a couple of times (I may dig them up at a later date and post them, as evidence - it may be amusing. Then again, it may not). So, what made me do it, finally? My friend, the amazing Leah. She started one and I love it. Also, the following facts:

1. It is a grey, rainy day
2. I am sitting next to a fire
3. I now have wireless access at home
4. From next week I am pursuing my second career (finally). I have gone down to a four-day week to allow myself time to proofread/edit and maybe, even, write
5. It is a grey, rainy day

Point 4 - I have a sneaky suspicion that possibly starting a blog may not be very conducive to encouraging me to work on my fifth, allocated-to-other-work-not-mucking-about day. Oh-oh...

And, yes, I know points 1 and 5 are the same. It's something about grey, rainy days - makes me want to write. Melancholy mixed with joy. It also makes me want to drink. From what time of the day is it acceptable to drink alone? Or is it never acceptable? And who made up those silly rules anyway?