Wet, wet, wet

RAIN DROPS KEEP FALLIN'

 

A deluge has attacked Brockton for eight days and nights. That's more than one interminable full week. The rain is ceaseless, shows no mercy for the children who can't go out to play, to go to school (most of which are closed anyhow). Our roof, thank heavens, doesn't leak. The sump pump throbs and pumps as we had had it checked before we knew Noah might be sailing by.

 

True, my pantry shelves no longer remind me of West Point cadets, perfectly in line, standing at attention. What they now remind me of is to make a new dental appointment. Every time I see an empty space in Heinz baked beans, in Chicken of the Sea tuna cans, they look like black, rotted teeth have been extracted.

 

Before Gary swims home, I spray our bedroom with rose of attar to try to cover the damp odor that is creeping in around us. He tells me to stop because he doesn't like the smell and besides that, it makes his nose run. I hand him box of Kleenex and spray just my side of our room.

 

Once he has left for his office where business is slow, where typists don't show up, I straighten closets, drawers, cabinets until I am out of odds and ends to do. When I realized the kitchen what-not drawer had been done before and was too neat to tolerate, I mixed everything up, put it back in its normal chaos. That gave me as sense of accomplishment and time to play Solitaire again, read a book and take a quick half our nap.

 

The phone rings often. I make calls often, but am at the point of disconnecting every one, temporarily, of course. The same 'When's this damn rain going to stop' conversation is as boring as the rain. On day six, Comcast deserted me and probably millions of other recluses. Service ended abruptly at 10 a.m. just when  'One Life to Live' came on. No big loss, but when Comcast was off until 7:30 p.m., let Alex Trebek introduce himself and the four college students to show their brilliance and went off immediately after Sally Schnook made a mistake, I blew a gasket, cussed Comcast, Alex and poor Sally Schnook. I waited a few minutes and the show was on. How wonderful, I was able to hear Alex say 'Goodnite.' I was so angry I could have spat tacks.

 

A fool there was, my husband Gary. He actually volunteered to drive his co-workers ti and from Blacher's Boys' Wear, Inc. as long as the current rain situation continued. Did anyone bring an extra sandwich for Gary? No. Did anyone offer to pay for gas? Of course not. Sometimes AI think Gary is a fool but I love him anyhow. Yesterday he
stopped at the Icecream Igloo to refill our freezer that was getting low. He bought a pint of Ben & Jerry's Velvet Fudge Road (my favorite), a pint of Strawberry Patch for himself and three pints of Pecan Perfection. We gorged and forgot for a short time about the running rivers still flowing down our windows.

 

I have been marking each rain filled day on my kitchen calendar. It already has ten big red exes. Before Gary and I went to bed last night, the weatherman offered no hope for the morning. Something, not Gary, woke me at 6:15 a.m. I knew it was 6:15 because the sun was shining brightly on our stainless steel digital clock. I gave Gary a mighty kick on his rear, followed by a tender, soft massage. I pointed to the window and he saw what I saw. Without getting up, he clicked on the t.v. to check channel 58, the weather report. The pretty lady was waving her arms, showing where the rain was going next.

 

Comcast remained Comcast. There was no sound and we didn't mind at all.