RAIN: water falling in drops condensed from vapor in the atmosphere; the descent of this water
It’s a rainy day and, I confess, I was delighted to see the dark shadows of a nighttime rain shower on the sidewalk this morning. Partly because it checks water garden off my list, but mostly because of the way it feels.
The air is cool and clean. I breathed deep on my morning walk to the bus, trying to soak it in. I’ll be excited when the sun returns (it is summer after all) but today I’m going to relish the rain and enjoy the uneven tapping of the drops on my office window.
Loving rain is handy for Seattleites. Rain and long stretches of cloud cover are the tradeoff for avoiding things like scorpions, tornadoes, earthquakes and fancy dress codes that folks in other parts of the country tolerate. It’s a trade I’m more than willing to make.
Rain is linked with purification in some primal part of my being. Wet concrete is my blank slate. Drips from tree branches and gutters sound like forgiveness and possibility to me.
I like a good rain shower. Heck, I like any shower. I collect memories of showers the way some folks collect memories of great meals:
There were the childhood camp trips where we bathed as best we could in the campground water spigots, trying to walk the fine line between invigorating and painful exposure to the freezing water.
There were the service projects in Mexico where each day ended with judicious use of a single bag of sun-warmed water to wash away the stucco and sweat.
There were the frigid Alaskan waterfalls and streams that I plunged my head under to restore my sanity after miles of kayaking.
There were the European hostel showers that required body contortions to shave my legs.
There were the shared showers of young love.
There were the all-I-have-to-show-for-today showers of early motherhood.
Indoors or out, water from above is like magic. Water transforms people and things. Dry to wet. Dirty to clean. Weary to renewed.
When a city energy audit revealed that my beloved shower had a flow rate higher than any other home in the city, I felt guilty. Almost guilty enough to install the free low-flow shower head offered by the auditor. Almost. But, not quite. Take my car. Take my Ziploc bags. Leave my shower alone.
Recently, I’ve been shopping for a shower head to install in the bathroom planned as part of our basement remodel. Sure, I care about the appearance of the shower head, but what I really care about is the function.
Which one will make my morning shower feel like a walk in the rain?