Special Times

Rain, and thunderstorms, are predicted here for the next few days. I don't mind, at all. I love it when it rains. The weather is still pretty warm here, but the nights are beginning to be a little cooler, and before you know it, it will be Autumn, which happens to be one of my favorite times of the year. When Autumn is approaching, it is apparent, to me anyway, in the way the light looks, especially in the afternoon--rather hazy, or something--and I begin to look forward to seeing the leaves changing colors. Sometimes, while out driving, certain areas look as if someone took a giant paintbrush, and flipped it at random, with colors landing helter-skelter upon the trees.

Then suddenly, it's wintertime, and then, depending upon where you happen to live, comes the snow! That's when I love the coziness of being inside, with the smell of something good cooking, like soup, or stew, or cornbread, or blueberry muffins. That's also when I realize how much I appreciate my nice, warm home, with plenty to eat, because it was not always so.

If you've read my other posts, then you have read a few things about my early life, and background. A lot of it sounded dismal, I know, but it was not all that way. Even in the midst of the hardest of times, there were times which created special memories. In the sharecropper's shack, with the large cracks in the floors, and the walls, I remember how Mama tried to make things cozy for us. We didn't have a lot--certainly not anything special, at all, but there were special times.

Sometimes, on rainy days, Mama would open a jar of blackberries which she had canned during the summer, and we would sit around the shabby old kitchen table, where she would allow us to put a big dollop of sugar into our bowls of blackberries. It doesn't sound like much, but it was for us kids. It was wonderful--cozy and comforting--sitting there eating our treat, and listening to the rain on the tin roof of the kitchen.

I don't know--maybe that is why I love the rain so much, now. I love hearing it pelting against the windowpanes, and onto the roof. It makes me feel safe, and secure--and comforted, somehow. Maybe, it makes me think of Mama, and of all the special little things she did, with practically nothing to do with. Love is just like that, you know?