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May 6, 2009

The rain is coming down in buckets right now, which doesn’t bother me like it does some people. I actually like the rain. I like the sound of it beating against the windows and the roof, love the metallic, liquid gurgle of it as it washes through the gutters.

When I was a kid, I used to visit my Grandma and Grandpa Wray’s farm in Crewe (also known as Nowhereville, or the little blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-on-the-way-to-the-beach-town). Much to their dismay, I’d commandeer the attic for my headquarters during my stay—I’m sure it had something to do with having my brain full of The Secret Garden, Nancy Drew, and other books involving attics and such. To me, the attic was a place of mystery and the unknown…things just waiting to be discovered. To my grandparents, it was dust and things shoved aside, best left alone.

It was a magical place for kids, though, because as children you fail to see the dust and grime and worthlessness of things tossed away. Imagination turns them into possibilities.

As you went up the steps, there was, right over the molding on the wall, a mousehole—just like the ones in the Disney cartoons—perfectly rounded at the top and flush against the molding. I’d pause as I ascended virtually every time and sit on the steps, watching that mousehole, waiting for one of Cinderella’s mouse friends to emerge.

The attic itself was divided into two sections, each with a dormer window, a heavily slanted ceiling from the roofline, and a closet that opened up along the back wall that connected the two rooms. My brothers would build forts in that closet, and sneak back and forth. The plaster walls were painted a pale robin’s egg blue, and my side had the flue from the woodstove running up through it.

I would make cozy pallets of quilts and pillows up in the attic, and plug in one of those old-fashioned lamps with the round porcelain body, and have a stack of crumbling books to occupy me—books that I would never have otherwise discovered, like Girl of the Limberlost. Inevitably, because God is good that way, it would rain, and I would fall asleep listening to its tattoo on the red tin roof of that old farmhouse.

The farm is gone now, sold many years ago. Rain on a tin roof, though, is still one of my favorite things.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. May 7, 2009 10:25 am

    That was beautiful. I also am a huge fan of rain. I loved the sound of it hitting the Redondo Beach sand as I sat beneath the lifeguard tower, taking it all in. The smells, the sights, the sounds. That is my favorite rain place.

    I suppose what I am trying to say is that we share a nostalgic love for the rain.

  2. May 7, 2009 12:18 pm

    A dough enhancer is just a powder that helps improve the texture of your bread. It usually contains lecithin. My ine also includes whey, tofu powder, cornstarch and some vitamins.
    I ususally find it in the baking aisle at the grocery store or Wal-mart.

  3. May 7, 2009 11:27 pm

    I love the sound of rain also. We have an aluminum patio cover on the back of our house. WHEN it rains here in the desert, I open the window that is under the patio cover just to hear the rain drops more.

    Your description of the attic was so vivid, I could almost smell the crusty books you were reading!

  4. May 8, 2009 8:12 am

    Ah, rain. Say no more.

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