Tag Archives: rain

1947. Seasonal Alphonso

Alphonso hated the Spring Equinox. It meant we’re heading towards summer, which is hot, sticky, and utterly uncomfortable.

Alphonso hated the Summer Solstice. It meant the hottest months are on their way.

Alphonso hated the Autumn Equinox. It meant we’re heading towards winter, which is cold, icy, and utterly uncomfortable.

Alphonso hated the Winter Solstice. It meant the coldest months are on their way.

Alphonso hated the weather on television. “They’re forever predicting bad weather. I’ll watch once they start being a bit more positive.”

1892. Damp bath towels

It had been raining for what seemed like weeks. Quite honestly, Leon was running short on bath towels. The first batch of washed bath towels he pegged out on the outside clothesline in the rain. Often it would be fine the day after rain, and having laundry rinsed in the rain added to their freshness once they had dried. But this batch of six towels simply did not seem to want to dry.

It wasn’t as if he was made of towels. He had eight altogether, three red and three grey and two white. After the initial wash he was left with two dry towels that quickly dampened when Leon took a shower.

There were a few other things Leon was trying to dry as well. For example, his wife’s woollen pullover had been damp for so long that he thought it really needed a quick rinse to freshen it up again.

His living and dining rooms were festooned with drying laundry. The backs of chair, the table, even the television, had towels draped over them.

Leon thought of going out and buying a new set of bath towels. But then what would he do with this lot of towels once they had dried? Would he simply throw them away? Why wouldn’t they hurry and dry? These six towels that he had used to mop up his wife’s blood after he’d shot her. The woollen pullover, once dried, he would burn.

1874. Outside a thrush was singing

Iseult was a novelist. She wrote horror, fantasy and science fiction.

It was raining outside. It was one of those sun-shower days that make you understand why Ireland is called “The Emerald Isle”. The green was translucent.

Iseult gazed out the window. She had been stuck on a sentence for two days now. “Herman raised the axe”. Iseult knew she couldn’t kill off Aoibhinn, the heroine, so early in the novel. It was after all only page 19.

“Herman raised the axe.” What comes next? How could Aoibhinn escape this inevitable fate? Does she bend down to pat the dog and thus escape the plunging axe head? No! No! It’s all too predictable. Simply bending to pat a dog and escaping murder is so gauche. Maybe Iseult had made a mistake modelling Herman on the guy who comes to mow her lawns – he was too much an unexciting character. His personality didn’t advance the plot.

Outside the window a thrush was singing its heart out in the rain. Now there’s a sentence, thought Iseult. “Herman raised the axe. Outside the window a thrush was singing its heart out in the rain.”

Iseult typed the new sentence. At least she was one sentence further on. It’s fun, she thought, that what I type is actually happening! Outside the window a thrush was singing…

Herman raised the axe. Outside the window a thrush was singing its heart out in the rain. Iseult bent down to pat the dog.

(The real Iseult blogs HERE. There she reviews many a book. Her own novel – “7 Days in Hell” – is available on Amazon. Sometime ago, in the comments on my blog, Iseult expressed a mild desire to be a “victim” in one of my stories! Hence today’s gentle, though callous, plot.)

1642. Rain! Rain! Rain!

(The photo is taken from my desk!)

Rain! Rain! Rain! It was always raining! It had so flooded Hedley’s backyard pot plants that they were dying. He must somehow bring them inside. Perhaps put them in his garage if there was enough light.

There were large puddles on his driveway. The spouting in front of his sitting room window was overflowing down onto his rose garden. His vegetable garden was so saturated that it was not only impossible to gather vegetables, but the vegetables were rotting in the ground. His lawn was a mud pool.

Rain! Rain! Rain!

Hedley woke with a start in the armchair where he had dozed. The stifling heat of this two-month long summer drought was starting to get to him. The city’s ban on garden watering meant most of his usually wonderful garden had shrivelled up. Oh for rain! Rain! Rain!

1622. A study in ennui

It certainly produces ennui when stuck inside on a rainy day. In fact, Syd had stayed in bed with the curtains drawn. The only thing that would happen if he got up would be to have breakfast before discovering that there was “nothing to do”. He wasn’t allowed much time on his phone, he wasn’t allowed much time watching videos, he wasn’t allowed much time on his computer, he wasn’t allowed much time doing sweet nothing. And now his parents were telling him to “go look for a summer job during the holiday time.” His parents sucked. The world sucked. It was hosing down outside. He might as well stay in bed. So he did.

When his father came home around one in the afternoon he went into Syd’s room and said “Get out of bed you lazy sod and do something useful.” Syd saw red and leapt out of bed and he and his father had a shouting match. Syd threw on some clothes and stormed out of the house.

What Syd’s father then said to Syd’s mother shouldn’t necessarily appear here unedited. But he swore that their next two sons would have their teenage years circumvented and they’d go from age eleven to twenty-two in one go. It’s a wonder the falling rain outside didn’t steam and hiss and evaporate once it hit the roof of the Maddock household. Syd’s father mowed the lawn in the rain he was so fed up to the back teeth. Then he tidied the garage. Then he fixed the broken cupboard door handle in the kitchen.

When dinner time came Syd came home and everything was normal.

1584. On a wet evening

Usually we quite enjoy taking the dog for its daily walk. Being creatures of habit, we seem to cover the same trail, but there’s always a new flower in someone’s garden, or a dead hedgehog on the road that the dog must stay away from, or a bird that wasn’t singing on that branch yesterday, or a car parked in a silly place…

“You’d think they wouldn’t park on the grass verge, dear. People like us walk here with our dogs. Some people have no sense.”

Of course, if it’s raining the walk with the dog is another matter altogether.

“Would you mind taking the dog for a walk on your own today, dear? I’m halfway through preparing dinner.”

And later…

“While you’re wet, dear, would you mind going out to the woodshed in the rain and getting the firewood for this evening? It’s going to be a cold night and I’m half way through peeling the potatoes.”

And still later…

“Goodness! Five o’clock already! Could you pour me a little wine, dear, when you’ve finished lighting the fire? I’m halfway through stuffing the chicken.”

And round about dinner time…

“What a miserable night, dear, so wet and cold. Would you mind popping out? I thought we could get take-away.”

1552. Everyone pardons the rain

(The closing sentence for this story was suggested by Uma of One grain amongst the storm. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future closing sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)

Everyone pardons the rain. If it rains on a picnic it’s cooling down the oppressive heat. If it rains on the street it’s washing away the stifling dust. If it rains on a normal day it’s watering the garden. If it rains at a funeral it is tears of sorrow. If it rains on a wedding procession ah! it is a sign of wonderful fertility.

Bernice had no such worries for her wedding. It was planned for the dry season when each day for weeks on end would dawn warm and dry. The bridal party and guests would process brightly from the church to the place where the reception was to be held. It would be on foot, except for a cousin in a wheel chair; she would be pushed! The whole world could take part in the procession if they wished.

And indeed! The day dawned bright and cheerful. The wedding service in the church was so beautiful that even grandpa had to borrow grandma’s lace handkerchief to dab his eyes. And then the groom announced: “We invite everyone to join our procession from here to the place of reception!”

They set out. Drums and fifes led the way. It was the happiest of all happy processions! That was when the bomb went off.

Somewhere up there, the clouds murmured and groaned as fat drops of rain fell on the lifeless forms on the street.

1549. Down on one knee

(The closing sentence for this story was suggested by Terry of ARANEUS1. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future closing sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)

I’d put it off for long enough. Leonie-Lee was my life and light. We had been dating now for three years. It was time to propose marriage, but to be honest, what if she said “No”? The possibility of a “No” – no matter how improbable it was in reality – had always come in the way of proposing. I wish she’d taken advantage of that quirky thing (I believe it’s the case) and proposed to me herself last Leap Day.

I caught the number 12 tram. It stops almost outside my house. There’s no need to walk far except down the garden path. In fact, when it rains, I simply wait in my porch and when the number 12 tram approaches I dash out and board the tram raincoat-less and umbrella-less. Crossing the road can be a bother, but there’s a place for pedestrians to cross, although these days who can trust the road-raging drivers? Of course, I carry my coat and umbrella, because when I reach the tram stop where I alight I still have to walk a good half hour to arrive at Leonie-Lee’s house.

I had the engagement ring and everything. In fact I’ve been so excited about this decision that I haven’t slept for two days. Not the briefest forty winks.

When I got off the number 12 tram the sun was shining. The day couldn’t have been more pleasant if I’d planned it myself. I practically skipped my way to Leonie-Lee’s. This was to be the happiest day of my life thus far.

Anyway… that was a couple of hours ago. Leonie-Lee said… well… it doesn’t matter. Same as last time. Afterwards, I headed straight for home. As I stepped off the number 12 tram, dodging impatient traffic, it started to rain.

Music 239-253: A Sixth Little Suite in Fifteen Sketches

Hi Everyone

Here is the Sixth Little Suite in Fifteen Sketches – both audio and printable – for the pianoforte.

Click on a title in the first list to listen, and click on a title in the second list to download the written music. As for all the eleven Little Suites (which I’ve finished) the first and last sketches are identical.

Thanks

Click on a title to listen
1. Dull rainy day
2. Cartwheels
3. The old car
4. Skipping along
5. Park slide
6. Journeyman cooper
7. Spinning jenny
8. Bird on a branch
9. Bedtime story
10. Getting the kids ready for school
11. Harvest festival
12. It looks like rain
13. The iron gate
14. The fop
15. Clear skies

Click on a title to download the written music
1. Dull rainy day
2. Cartwheels
3. The old car
4. Skipping along
5. Park slide
6. Journeyman cooper
7. Spinning jenny
8. Bird on a branch
9. Bedtime story
10. Getting the kids ready for school
11. Harvest festival
12. It looks like rain
13. The iron gate
14. The fop
15. Clear skies

Poem 84: Stuck inside on yet another rainy day

It’s raining on my pomposity.
Now my pomposity’s all wet.
It’s a monstrosity.

Precipitation precipitates with considerable velocity.
There’s no stopping ‘locity
with or without an apostrophe.

Perhaps I should try reciprocity.
But rain falls with such ferocity
it makes reciprocity preposterously an impotossity.

If I’d been born a rhinoceros I’d have a lot more rhinosity.
I tell you, once my pomposity gets wet
I get filled with ridiculous verbosity.

It’s a philosophical atrocity,
especially when stuck inside
on yet another rainy day.