What is it about a real good hard rain that makes it seem as if suddenly, finally, you are not so very alone? Like, as if, someone else knows just what it takes to keep all those balls up in the air, the great feat that juggling these days and it's moments can be.
It rains. Hard. And, all of a sudden you aren't the only one learning to let go. To let things fall where they may. Where they must?
It's a sloppy, but beautiful, sort of pouring down. This Hawaii rain.
The heavens above our little house seem to have decided that today is that day. It's gray, like a real, dark gray. And, other than the occasional pause to, you know, sigh deeply and stir up another great sort of sob, it hasn't stopped raining since last night. It's a completely committed sort of rain.
There's not much to be done, I suppose. Other than, maybe, to make a, bigger than most days, cup of coffee and welcome the weather in to our lives for a good long sit. Like good company, you haven't seen in a while and with whom you have a lot of catching up to do.
Also, it, that rain, is a wonderfully poetic excuse to not do all of those packing/ moving related things that seemed so very important and immediate, right up until that rain started, you know?
I've been sifting through our memories here, trying to decide what bits we'll tuck into our suitcases and carry on with us and what pieces we'll lovingly wrap and store away for a good long while. It's a strange process for me. I'm not a very good memory keeper. I admit it. Charlie is far better about those things. But somewhere, a couple of years ago, really, in a moment of holding on-ness, I put together a montage of a day in our lives here. I found it while searching for things to save...
And my, have these boys grown. And geesh, will we miss so many things about our life here on O'ahu. And goodness, that rain. You know?