Die, you stupid mouse. Die.

1987: We were hurrying through an Irish downpour rain.  Three children in the car crying, “The movie starts in five minutes…”  Tears and desperation flowed.  Down my face. 

A parking place, had to find a parking place.  Dammit.  There’s one, but it’s a tight one, and I’ll have to parallel park with traffic behind me.  “Quiet, kids, let me get parked.”  Lord, help me!  I hate parallel parking…

Zip, Zang, and I was in the spot.  Perfect.  The kids leapt out the passenger side onto the concrete.  Me?  I had to crawl out into traffic, where a river rampaged down the gutter, and cars sprayed me. 

On a pelting run, we made it to the ticket window, and paid the snotty teenager who said, “Movie’s already started, ya’ know…”  Pushing the kids ahead of me, I whispered all sorts of mild profanity in response to the teenager.  

We found our friends and settled into watching “The American Tail”.  A poor Eastern European family of mice were emigrating to America.  They got separated, with poor #@^& boy, Fievel, trying to find his way back to the family.  Fievel was befriended by unlikely carnivores, chased by likely carnivores.

The key song, “Somewhere Out There” is sung as a duet, with Fievel in one part of the city and his saccharine sweet sister in the other.  My mood softened a little, but not enough.

 

I watched the movie with a jaundiced eye.  A cynical heart.  Still cold and wet from my traffic shower bath, I saw that mouse, @*#% Fievel, escape certain death time and time again.

 

Inevitable reunion ended the movie with music swelling and my kids laughing happily.  All I could think was, “Why didn’t they kill that #@$* mouse?”

 

Fast forward to 2012:  I still think that Fievel should have bit the dust in the first 30 minutes.  The sister would have made a much better lead.  Fievel didn't have a brain in his mouse head, or an ounce of common sense in his furry mouse body. His survival was a matter of luck.

 

Ireland Garda: keeping the weather in line

 

 

 translating English to Irish

Winter is a real force to deal with in any country.  For some reason, the Irish are themselves a force of nature. 

Ireland is wet, a given. But winter wet? Oh, yes. 

 

 

Summer? Is it dry? Is it hot? Is it raining? 

 

Ireland is an island that is surrounded by ocean, wind, and rain. Morning could be gray, midday is sunshine, and evening is a pouring rain. Or, it could be all rain, or maybe just clouds.  Or it could be rain that lasts for days... 

 

If you want to know some Gaelic, there are many sites to access. It is a hard language to learn, let me tell you that. 

 

When in doubt just say, "sin Éire duitse (that's Irish for you).

 

 This is more like it.  

Snow! Glorious Snow! Ha.

Snow holds no mystery for us as we have experienced it for our entire lives until we got married and fled. But then my husband was a TA at Iowa State University. Snow swept across the prairie and locked us in at any given time.

Victorville, California

And then...

We dwelled in Victorville, California, in the Mojave Desert, a hellish wasteland. Surrounded by flat fields of sand, sagebrush, scrubs, and tumbleweeds, our family grew there for seven years. When the temperature plummeted to 94 deg. F/37 C., it felt like we needed jackets.

And then....

We moved to Ireland then where there was rain every day.  It was joyous, for the world was green and lush. Sadly, we lived there for only a few years.

And now...

Now we are enjoying a fairly even climate and enjoying the beauty of our area.  But, we miss some of the spring, all of the fall, and maybe a nibble of winter from Illinois. Summer in the Midwest is not missed at all.

And then...

My son John married Arlette in Chicago at December 4, 2016, with both families all around. What we also experienced was an unexpected taste of winter.

Just a taste, a beautiful taste was all we needed.

A cemetery was across the street from our really cool hotel. When
we arrived , I promised our gr-daughters we would explore
it tomorrow.

And then...

The next day we woke up to see snow, it was glorious.

The table on the balcony was pure and smooth.

Our gr-daughters were thrilled when the snowflakes began
to fall. 

And then the next day, we left the snow behind and flew

to LAX. The diamonds of light lay down below, making Los Angeles 

truly resemble where angels might actually have been.

God created snow, rain, desert, etc. He has a plan for us, for what awaits us. 

Snow? It is all part of the plan, just like barren wilderness or swamps, it is all part of His plan.

So, I guess we have to go with "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Rain! Glorious rain!! Where are you,..

Wet….damp…drops…freshness…gray skies…water…rain…rain….

The Southwest is a tinder box of dry brown crispy vegetation.

Here are some photos of the last rain we had.  It was utterly wonderful.

Can you see the lines of rain??

The ferns were turning brown.

Click on photo to "embiggen".

Ignore the pool toys--grandkids, what can I say?

Joy, pure joy.

Are you watching the skies for rain clouds?

Wednesday Words: Seth

Under the Porch Light photo prompt

Seth was relieved to complete the near vertical climb through deserted stretches of trails overlooking Las Vegas.  Seth cleaned his dusty spectacles and gazed at blinking lights below.

Ha!  And Dave said I couldn’t do it!  Seth smiled as he thought of his brother’s derision as he loaned his camp gear to novice camper Seth.  But his gloat was fleeting as he realized the sun was almost behind distant mountains, and he had yet to set up camp.  The full moon was moving behind heavy clouds and it would soon be completely dark.

Frantically Seth tried to find a suitable patch of ground that wasn’t rock hard.  He tumbled down into a trench where the softer ground made hammering spikes easier.  The tent was up in minutes with the Coleman lantern blazing.   Ha! He said again, as he dropped trousers to urinate into the dry ground.  Indecent of me, but it's camping…

As he dozed off warm and cozy within Dave's tent, he heard the thunder in the mountains and enjoyed the sound of rain falling upon the tent. 

When the ground rumbled and shook, Seth leaped outside the tent just in time to see the wall of water and mud roaring toward him along the gully.  His last thoughts were, ‘Dave is gonna be really pissed about the tent….’

Dave and his tent in happier times

Please check out of Wednesday Words and Prompts from Delores at  Under the Porch Light.  Awesome writers participate in this weekly event!  You can access her site by clicking on the peaceful stream on the right side bar.

Wednesday Words from Delores

source

Seething at the sneaky bandits, Red peered into his almost empty store of nuts and seeds.  He was confused how any other squirrel could have found his cache.  Icy rain began to fall.  Red looked up at the noon day sky, and shook his paw.  “Damn you, Chip and Dale!”

Rain

Rain.

We need rain.

My father spoke those words frequently during different summers.  I recall riding frequently so many times with him in his pick-up.  He always always drove slowly past his fields, looking into the rows of green corn.  What he saw, I didn’t understand. Then.

Dad looked at the height and color of the stalks.  He examined the size of the ears, the tassels, the silk.   

Was the silk golden or was it already turning rust?  

Were the ears full around, or short and stunted?  

Were the tassels tall and full, or were they sparse and drooping over?  

The stalks—were they robust, strong, and green?  Or had they turned yellow?

Dad never spoke much to anyone during those slow, oh so slow drives.  He just looked.

Rain.

We need rain.

Rain on the Table

The rain began to mist...

Marianne and Jody skipped to the table ahead of their mommy.  “We got here first!  We win, Mommy!”  Still holding hands, they climbed onto the table top and danced, their joined hands lifted up to the clear blue sky.

“Get down, girls!  Come help me with the picnic basket,” Laura Marshall groaned as she struggled with the heavy basket in one hand and the blanket in the other.  “Quickly!  I can’t carry this much farther!”

The girls jumped to the bench and then onto the grass.  “Let me get the basket…No, you carry the blanket this time…No!  You got to…” 

“Girls!  Please!”  Laura reprimanded them, setting the heavy load onto the table just as her strength gave out.  Silently, Marianne and Jody glared at each other.  Shrugging, they reached out to help Mommy unpack the sandwiches, the homemade potato salad, and apples.  With each item, they giggled.  A picnic!  They had not come here to this park in so long, not since Daddy went away on that trip.  And, to this table, too. 

Between bites, Laura told the girls about the table, how she and their daddy had their first date at this very table.  “Your daddy sat there, Jody, and I…”  Laura paused for a moment.  “I sat over where you are, Marianne.”

“What happened next, Mommy?  What did Daddy say?”  The girls knew this story by heart, word for word.  They knew how Daddy had reached across the table and held Mommy’s hand.  They knew how she giggled.

 Laura thought for a moment, and in a distant voice continued.  “The rain began to mist through the trees, and soon it was really raining.  We ran to the car, and laughed as we got soaked.” The girls nodded, as Laura’s face took on a softness that appeared when she talked about Daddy.

When every crumb that could be eaten was gone, the blanket was placed out on the sun-warmed grass.  The girls sprawled on it, spreading their arms wide, and gazing through the tree branches. Filled with Mommy’s memories and food, they felt like they could reach out and hold their father.   

 They could see the rain, the wet table, and the dripping branches.  Daddy had been here once.  Maybe, someday Daddy would come back from Heaven and have a picnic with them.  

 Go to this blog site to read other stories about "Rain on the Table".

Photo Writes