Rain Dance (rān/ dan(t)s, ˈdän(t)s)
Definition
—noun
: a ritualistic dance performed to invoke rain and protect the harvest.[1]
Last week it rained in California. And the rains—or monsoons really—could not have come at a more apropos time. First, we really needed it. The water reserve level is at an all time low, lingering in the “yellow zone” (far from blue, or full; and far too close to red, or empty).
There are constant reminders and tips on the radio on how to save water—the right time to sprinkle the yard, the shortest way to shower, the most effective way to sweep the driveway (broom, not hose people!). So yay for the rain! California was thirsty and the rain helped quench some of that thirst.
Second, it was a great first resolution to fulfill—a gentle transition into this new world that I’ve created for myself, if you will. But I’m just as new to this world as you are. So, it took a couple tries before I was satisfied with blogging about my rain dance.
Take 1.
The day started off at a tearoom for lunch, specifically the Scarlet Tea Room in Pasadena, an adorable restaurant that does tea the old fashioned European way. This was my first visit there; my friend, Jen’s second or third. We picked a peach-flavored black tea, Persian Nectar (of course, right? What else could a Persian woman choose?); ate our scones, with raspberry jam, lemon curd sauce, and whipped cream; chose our crust-free sandwiches; and ended the course with petit dessert and strawberries romanoff. The initial plan was to walk around Pasadena after teatime and then go to the beach to watch the sunset—that was supposed to be the first resolution I completed.
But as carpe diem would have it, as we finished lunch, the rain clouds stitched together and the sky turned absurdly dark for 3 pm. Walking around Pasadena was out. And sitting on the beach in the rain to watch the sunset didn’t sound very appealing to either one of us. So we decided to leave. I’d watch the sunset another day when the rains stopped.
And then it happened. My moment of spontaneity.
“I could just dance in the rain instead,” I said.
“Do you want to?” Jen asked. “I could take the pictures.”
I shrugged. Wasn’t that the point of this blog? To do the things I don’t normally do? To be willing to break out of the shell I’ve locked myself into? To live? I mean, I wrote it in my mission statement, after all. I promised it in my first entry.
“Yup,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
We pulled over and walked down the street in search of the “right place” to dance. I let Jen choose—and of course she picked a small cobble stoned patch in the median of the road where everyone could see me as they drove by.
I ran across the street to the designated location. And danced. While Jen snapped pictures, videotaped and laughed, I danced. I even sang. After all, there was no music, and I felt that I needed music in order to dance properly. The song I chose? “Dancing in the Rain.” What else would I possibly choose?
And I have to tell you all….
It was sooo much fun! And liberating! It felt great to just live in the moment, to not care who saw or what anyone thought, and to boogy-woogy under the rain.
Except it was only sprinkling.
And there was no music (if you watch the video, you will understand that I’m no singer and my singing shouldn't count as music)
So came along Take 2.
I was having lunch with my parents at their house. It was POURING. Literally. Like someone had unzipped the sky right where it was holding back a river. Pouring, typhoon wet. And as we sat around the kitchen table enjoying our lunch and the warmth that a good home-heating system provides on a cold, wet day, one of the chairs in the backyard flopped over. It must be saved, I decided. And so must the other swivel rocker chairs where I read books when the weather is sunny and more California-esque. So I “braved the storm” to move my old friends out of harm’s way.
As I carried the chairs to the loggia and pressed them against the wall, carpe diem nudged me again. Dance now. It’s actually REALLY raining, and adding music would be so easy.
The chair saving went on hold in order to fulfill my resolution. Take deux. Of course, by then, the rain had slowed—not to a sprinkle, but also not a cyclone.
I turned on the radio. The song playing? T.I’s “Dead and Gone” (featuring Justin Timberlake). What better choice than that? How much more appropriate can it get? A song on the radio about rebirth, just as I’m getting ready to dance in the rain.
Oh how the stars have aligned.
And so I danced. Happily. With the rain slapping against my face. And it felt just as liberating as the first time.
Now I have my own personal definition of rain dance.Rain Dance (rān/dan(t)s, ˈdän(t)s)
Definition
—noun
:the first step in harvesting a new life. [2]
