It's Raining

St. Barths 7AM Things couldn't be anymore goofily symbolic on this last day. Both my pens are out of ink. It is raining just like it was the night I arrived. I just stood in the rain on my balcony, feeling the slick smooth wood underfoot, letting raindrops fall into my last espresso, and drinking them. The Caribbean air dries the Caribbean rain on my arms--one side dry in an instant, the other tingling with coolness as each drop evaporates. 

 

I'm watching the penny-sized circle droplets ping in a synchronized dance on the wood floor and it makes me think of being in kindergarten. Quiet rain when I'm inside usually does. It's a feeling of being safe but also a little lonely. Because it's the first days in my life of being away from family. I'm not alone in the kindergarten classroom, but I'm on my own. I gaze out the school window at the rain and wonder what my dad, mom, and little brother are doing.

And ah yes now that's another metaphor for the last hours of my writing trip. Even at 50, I am growing up and learning new things. And missing my family when it rains.

 

Ode to Mom Who we are starts with our parents. This week I stepped out of my comfort zone, physically and mentally. I took risks, wrote raw, dug , revised my thinking, and wrote even more raw. I drew on elements of my mom that mercifully exist within me--her fearlessness, curiosity, questioning of everything, observation skills, and her humor. 

She is a mom who can make dreams come to life because she believes it's always worth a try. She would say the only failure is to not try. These worthy values go from me to my children. Then to their children. The world gets a little better because of our good moms. 

I love you mommy. Now come pick me up from kindergarten. It's raining.