Bob

Batz

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July 17, 2009

Rain Falls in a Parking Lot, and America Blooms

It was a few ticks past two on a soggy summer afternoon and I was standing in the doorway of one of those monstrous discount stores that sell everything from electric can openers to pantyhose.

Rain that would make even Noah nervous was pelting the store’s car-filled parking lot and the sky all around was the same color as dirty water.

As I stood there with my $12.89 purchase clutched in my hand, watching the raindrops tap-dancing on the pavement, I tried to figure out how I could get from where I was to my car without drowning.

Then, all of a sudden, it dawned on me. I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get to my car. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

I mean, the only thing I was hoping to do that day was water my backyard vegetable garden and God was already doing a pretty darned good job of that. 

The truth was I didn’t have anywhere to be or anyone to meet. I wasn’t late for a doctor’s appointment or a board meeting or a dinner date. I could stand there looking at the rain all day if I wanted to and nobody would even care.

Ah, yes, the beauty of semi-retirement.

For several minutes I stood alone waiting for the rain to quit, or at least ease up a bit so I could make a mad dash for my car.

Then, a minute or so after I arrived, other shoppers began emerging from the store. They, like me, were surprised by the sudden downpour.

Some darted umbrella-less into the parking lot. More, though, stopped under the store’s protective overhang as I had to wait for the storm to subside.

A few were silent as they stood there eye-balling the raindrops. Most, though, made rain-related comments.

“Yow, where did this come from?” one guy said.

I wanted to tell him “I’m guessing the sky” but I didn’t.

Another man, who was wearing bib overalls, said “We need this rain,” like maybe he was a farmer or something.

After taking a quick peek at the already-drenched parking lot, a woman fired up a cigarette, plucked a magazine from her shopping cart and started reading it.

A young mother with a small child in tow glanced at the raindrops, pulled a toy truck out of a plastic bag and handed it to the boy to play with.

The rain continued. So did the comments.

“Nice weather for ducks,” one guy observed.

Another chipped in “If I knew this was going to happen I would have worn my bathing suit . . . or brought along a sandwich.”

And then, as I stood there kibitzing with a dozen or so total strangers, it suddenly dawned on me that despite all of the world’s problems, it’s still pretty neat to be alive and living in the heart of America . . . even when it’s raining.

Contact Bob at bbatz@woh.rr.com

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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