I haven’t left the house in 3 days minus a brief field trip I took yesterday to the end of the driveway for the mailbox. Since it’s always trendy to be grateful, I whipped up a thank you note for a recent job interview that I had and needed to mail it on a rainy Tuesday.
Just to further embarrass myself in the neighborhood since I have zero shame, of course I was dressed in hybrid outfit composed of sketchy pajamas, lazy lounge wear, finished with Paddington Bear like boots because they were the closest in sight. All in all, I think most neighbors and UPS men would do a double take on my multicolored insanity I called typical Tuesday attire on unemployment row. I grabbed the thank you and charged for the door. Realizing it was raining puppies and kitties, I decided I was missing one last accessory, the umbrellie. The best part of my day was the giddy I amusement I felt right before I crossed the garage door threshold seeing the pile of rain gear our family keeps near and dear.
I cracked a smile as I scanned the Roenick plethora of umbrellas. We own gargantuan golf umbrellas, charity donation umbrellas, feminine pattern umbrellas and sans-personality umbrellas. I had 7 to choose from next to our garage door and that doesn’t count the 3 or 4 we have in each of the four family vehicles. I laughed out loud as I thought I haven’t opened an umbrella to use in over a year.
I smirked at the memory of my parents reassuring me that I just HAD to move to California with 3 or 4 umbrellas in my Honda CRV just in case I or any my passengers had to brace the elements.
If you have ever lived or ever just visited Southern California, you know it doesn’t rain more than 15-20 days a year and it is always a brief mist, not even a drizzle. Regardless, getting so amped up for my .3 mile charge up the driveway to the mailbox was the highlight of my day because I was reunited with an accessory I didn’t realize I really missed that much until it represented itself. A few days this year, when it was “misting” in San Diego, I wore my beloved rain boots to work with a somewhat matching dress. Each time I strutted those rubber bad boys, my coworkers glared at me like I had just brought a porterhouse to vegetarian house party. Tough crowd…
As I’ve slowly started to tell people about my big decision, I’ve gotten mostlyrave reviews. On purpose, I actually did not tell too many people my internal struggle until after it was official for fear of biased fanfare. The one response I do not like to hear is “I’m sorry California did not work out for you” or “You’re giving up?” False. California did work out for me. I could continue to make it work if I wanted to, but that desire just isn’t as high as it is for Maryland. You shouldn’t be sorry or accuse me of failing, but rather you should be happy that I have intuition to know that is right for myself and when, my friends. I kindly responded saying no need to be sorry as I am happy and this is what I chose and both guys responded well that is all that matters. Tis true. Thank you.
Rain washes away dirt, dirt that blurs our sight and temporarily marred our externalities-glasses, clothes, cars. But people forget that rain showers bring beautiful flowers and for some, special powers, powers of might and serenity. I was more productive in that mismatching Joe boxer pair of shorts from age 13 with the Cape Charles, Va. fishing tee, Washingtonpost.com hoodie and different colored neon socks (who has matching socks nowadays anyway?) outfit on my couch all day, then I had been in awhile. That’s a power that the rain enabled. The wet weather kept me glued to that recliner and my non-Steve Jobs laptop.
Finally, when my roommates of 17 years who just happened to be the people who gave me life, Jim and Ro, dipped for their weekly ballroom dancing lessons, I was granted the power of song. I stripped down in the bathroom and celebrated “Less Pants, More Dance” in a new way. I worked that shower with my moves like Jagger as I sang an empowering, off key version of “Return to Innocence” by Enigma for a glorious 5 minutes until I nearly wiped out like President Taft in the tub mid dance move. The best part of the song is the Chorus where there aren’t any words and just hodgepodge made up sounds. It was a tribal cry of mine from Iroquois Lane (my lifelong address on the east coast).
The words of the verses, which of course, I didn’t really know and always fudge, parlay to my life right now too:
“If you want, then start to laugh…
Be yourself don’t hide
Just believe in destiny
Don’t care what people say
Just follow your own way
Don’t give up and use the chance
To return to innocence.”
I think I actually first heard this song back in the 90s when “Man of my House” ruled my life and crush department (who didn’t want to have their first kiss with JTT?). Well, last night, when my parents left to go dance with pants, I was the “[Wo]Man of the House.” Hail.