Rainy Days and Tuesdays

Is there a reason we get depressed on rainy days? Is there some chemical interaction with the prospect of getting wet that drags us into the depths of despair? I do remember one time back in the 1980's I was working part-time in the activities department of a local nursing home, and we had eleven straight days of steady rain. The residents started dropping like flies (no disrespect intended), and the listings of obituaries in the local papers grew to two or three times their normal size.

I'd hate to think that the sight of rain means we have to give up. In my favorite part of the world (so far), the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York, the rain brings with it a considerable amount of ethereal beauty. The clouds themselves divide and settle into the dips between mountains, and the waters of the many lakes turn a smooth-as-glass slate gray. I have taken photographs of this phenomenon, and you would swear the resulting prints are shot in black and white, but they are not. There are an infinite number of colors between blue and green and gray, but to see them you have to have a practiced eye and the desire to look very, very closely.

While others around me are sinking into nothingness, waiting for the spaces between drops to venture forth, I have learned to prefer walking in the rain. I'm not quite to Gene Kelly Land yet, but there is some fun to be had in waltzing through a gully-washer, even running through the puddles. It may be only as we get older that we can truly appreciate the joys of children. I used to let my kids go out in the summer rains and get soaked, muddy, and overcome with hysterical laughter. It took a long while for me to join them, but I am so glad for that regression!

Now when it rains, I leave my umbrella safely in my car or my house, and dash madly between chores, smiling like an idiot. Heck, it's only water, and it will eventually dry.