My relationship with weather is irrational, and I know it. It’s a rainy Tuesday—a very rainy Tuesday and all I want is for the rain to go away, or at least let up by the time I head into the city. More crucial, the relentless precipitation is exposing weak spots in a roof that needs repair. Am I annoyed, maybe even angry? Yes I am—the point being that my mood is a product of the weather, completely out of my control.
Variable as the weather is on any given day, or week, we can count on some seasonal consistency, which makes for reasonably accurate forecasting. Never mind the silliness of rendering it with fluctuations akin to a woman’s moods. Weather has no moods. It just is. Wet. Dry. Sunny. Cloudy. Cold. Hot. Humid. There’s a science to meteorology, and then there’s metaphor.
The rain is very heavy right now, pounding away. The sound of it scares me. I soothe myself with thoughts of a story I wrote years ago, “My Father’s Voice,” in which the father says to the narrator: Walk between the raindrops and you won’t get wet.
Oh that I could.
I soothe myself, too, with songs for a rainy day. Better yet, blast the music to drown out the sound of the rain. I start with Tom Petty doing his cover of Rainy Day Woman #12&35 at the 30th Anniversary Bob Dylan Concert Celebration.
And while we’re on Dylan, I’d go right to the moody Bill Frisell instrumental version of A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall. Only place to go from there is Here Comes the Sun. Call me hopeful.
I love making playlists for myself, and for friends. Like stories passed down orally before the written word, a playlist becomes a narrative of sorts. There’s an art to the segue. The unconscious does its job linking one song to the next. How else to explain Waitin’ on a Sunny Day popping into my head, followed by Against the Wind, Bob Seger on the heels of Bru-u-u-c-e.
The rain has lightened up for a few minutes, almost a Rain Waltz. Almost as quickly, Etta James tugs at my heart. I know what it is to Cry Like a Rainy Day.
Would I like the weather to be more accommodating to my personal needs? Yes . . . but that doesn’t keep me from seeing the absurdity of wanting something much bigger than me to bend to my will. We ask for good weather when we’re going anyplace—a night out, a day in the city. We do our best not to complain (much) if a vacation in the Caribbean is less than sunny. Tell the truth, how many times have you heard or said these words yourself—It’s not supposed to rain. Expectation is a bitch. Meteorologists are not always right.
There’s only so much we can know before we go.
So when a friend tells me how the sound of rain at night makes for good sleeping, I say, sure, sure, as long as we’re talking about gentle rain, pitter patter. And when another friend tells me it’s raining in California, I say, hip hip hooray!
And I go back to my playlist. Music is the great connector, as tribal as it gets. You’re a better person than I am if you can refrain from singing along (never mind whether you can carry a tune). Music moves the spirit as much as the body. And what better song to end a rainy day playlist than Dancing in the Street?
