Monsoon Lagoon

 By Beckie Carlson

It's raining. Not a big deal to some people in some parts of the world, but here in Arizona...it's a big deal. We don't get a lot of rain. We get a lot of sun, wind, dust, scorpions, and cactus, but not a lot of rain.
I miss the rain. Living in Florida spoiled me. It rained every afternoon at 2:30. I know this because that is the time I headed out to meet the school bus. Umbrellas are important in Florida. In Arizona, we use umbrellas to provide shade from the sun. I prefer rain.
Everything looks better on a rainy day. I remember WAAAYYY BACK in a previous life, looking for houses in Arizona. We looked at a lot of different houses but nothing really clicked until that one house. I  fell in love with it. I loved everything about it. I dreamed about this house. Then, I went back and looked at it again. I hated it. What was the difference? I had looked at it on a cloudy, rainy day. For me, rain is like rose colored glasses. It puts a shine on everything. Someone could totally use this against me....
It was raining yesterday as I flew home from Utah. The plane bounced and creaked and rolled over the clouds. It was awesome. I wasn't afraid, even though my kids have been watching Lost for weeks now....I can't be afraid to fly. I have tried. It just doesn't scare me. I don't think I'm smart enough to be scared. I think that my mind can't wrap itself around the fact that I am in a metal tube, screaming through the air WAY above the ground, with nothing holding me up but air. Nope, doesn't scare me. Put me on a parking garage and tell me to look over the side and I'm freaked. Go figure.
As much as I love water falling from the sky, I hate water falling from my face. Or rather, I hate to cry. I have a good life, not many reasons to cry, but sometimes the urge comes. I don't like it. I feel like if I really let it go, all my memories, thoughts, fears, doubts, etc. will come rushing out my eyeballs and I will drown in it all. Its like that poem about the girl that cried a river that carried her away. Okay, maybe there isn't a poem about that, but there should be. Crying makes me feel vulnerable and broken. It also makes my face all red and splotchy and my eyes all runny. It's not a pretty sight.
Just like those clouds that get all full and leaky, my tears sometimes have to come. I fight it, I hide, I run, but I can't escape them. I usually feel better after its over, but in a drained, spent sort of way. Only a special few have seen me cry. Many have asked for the privilege but have been denied (after I punched them in the face for asking).  If you get to see me cry...you are lucky...and probably scarred for life...cause I said so.


Photo credit: http://www.fubiz.net/2013/01/06/rain-sculpting/rain-sculpting4/
for the record, google 'images of rain' and you will not be disappointed. I loved every picture...well, except that one of Obama and the one of Bieber...seriously.....