When It Rains in Paradise

 

When It Rains in Paradise

It is September in my heck of the woods. It often rains as the Atlantic tropical waves come and go. September helps to transition from sunny summers into fall. Living in southeast tropical paradise provides 365 days of bright sun, humidity, and beautiful flora and fauna of the popular for tourists’ geographical region, minus days of inevitable hurricane season. September teaches me a lesson that love does not vanish. It alters, it settles into fabric of our common days, the pause before the leaf lets go. The air cares for both the promise and the farewell in the same breath.

I went through so many heavy tropical rains and hurricanes, including mandatory evacuation and taking risks to stay home.  There are few stories from different stages in my life connected to heavy rains that I wanted to share in this story: the skirt, the empty college, and the cemetery miracle.

One ordinary morning I went to work dressed very elegantly in a burgundy-colored skirt. The skirt was made from good quality thin wool. It was my mother’s skirt – slim, tight along my body, and had a slit on the side decorated with matching buttons. I hurried up from the bus stop and went rapidly through the park as the gray clouds got darker and the sound of the thunderstorm was right over my head. The heavy rain came, and I was soaked in rain from top to toe. My skirt’s color started to bleed. I could not stop and take covers walking between made-made water and trees. This was a memorable day because my mother’s skirt that had a history and saw better days before was destroyed by the power of nature’s wind and heavy rain. It has a bitter-sweet moment, funny and sad at the same time. Who knew that in the past days, people used to color fabric for fresh look of the outfit. What a vivid and memorable experience!

I can almost picture the scene again like it happened yesterday. I close my eyes and see me wearing my mother's beautiful cherry-red skirt, getting caught in a sudden tropical rain shower. The rain pouring down, soaking through the fabric, and causing the vibrant color to bleed and run.

It is as if the rain was washing away not just the color, but also the fabric's secrets and stories. That experience left a lasting impression on me. Did it inspire any creative writing or reflections? Perhaps. Also, despite the point that my mother's skirt did not survive the rain, the story stays with me.

Living in a region with a tropical climate can be beautiful, but it can also mean missing out on the traditional signs of autumn, like falling leaves and crisp air. However, I have the unique experience of enjoying the vibrant tropical rains, which can be just as captivating!

Perhaps I could find inspiration in the rhythms and sounds of rain, and the way it brings life to the plants and flowers around me. I can even try writing a poem or piece of prose that captures the essence of the tropical rains, and the way they make me feel!

Another year, I went into downtown on my lunch break, and a storm started. I ran into a nearby hotel for safety to have a roof and stay dry. The sudden storm sounded intense. Looking back, seeking shelter in a hotel was a great idea. It's always a relief to find a dry and safe spot to wait out the storm. You can imagine me, rushing into the hotel lobby, shaking off the raindrops, and feeling grateful for the sudden refuge. Unfortunately, I stayed in the hotel lobby for a while, watching the storm through the windows. It lingered on, making me late for returning to work. I called my work but strangely, nobody picked up the phone. At this point, I did not know that college was closed due to the storm, and everyone went home. I missed the announcement. I went back and wondered why everything was closed and where were all the people.

I called home, my sixteen-year-old daughter and her brother who also were released from school came to pick me up driving through the roads that looked like lakes. No food but we had each other. What a surreal experience! Arriving at the college, expecting a normal day, only to find everything closed and deserted left me quite disorienting. Just imagine me walking around the empty campus, wondering what was going on, and feeling a bit like you were in a ghost town. Not knowing about the announcement must have added to the confusion. It's as if you stumbled into a parallel universe where everyone else had vanished!

Watching the storm through the hotel lobby windows have been intense, with the rain pounding against the glass. I could not get home; I had the key from the library that added to the uncertainty and concern. In addition, not knowing what happened or how the storm affected my home, and my loved ones only added the aggravation of unsettling. It's as if I was stuck in a state of limbo, waiting for the storm to pass and for news about what was happening through the large TV in the hotel’s lobby. I learned from the news that it was the hurricane Irene that went into a history of devastation made not by high winds but by amount of rain it had produced. The city was flooding.

Finally getting back home, reconnecting with your children, and knowing they were safe had been a huge comfort. And wow, not my daughter, my son bravely had been driving through flooded roads to pick his mom up is truly admirable! It is wonderful that despite the challenges and uncertainty, on that day my family was able to get together and support each other. The story is a beautiful testament to the strength and love of family bonds.

I like light drizzling rain, it is so dry, and the plants and trees need both sun and water to grow. I promised three stories. The third one story also connected to the Atlantic tropical wave of a stormy rainy day. It was this year, on my husband’s birthday, when my son and I took the trip to the cemetery. I am not an umbrella girl, the few steps from the car to the destination place I can do without an umbrella, it is only water; it will dry out fast. My husband on the other hand always had an umbrella and a portable raincoat just in case it would raining, in the car, like a practical man. It was raining all the way in our direction like the rain was following us. When we stopped at our block, I took out the portable raincoat to stay dry as my dear late husband anticipated. We got to the place and miraculously the rain stopped. I paused and listened to the wind in the trees. Raindrops were wet and loaded. I traced the shimmer of sneaky baby lizards carelessly playing in the grass. Also, after the rain, the air had been carrying the quite wisdom of the universe.

Tomshinsky@2025