A brief and very mild thunderstorm blew through this afternoon shortly after lunch. A very mild storm, with soft, gentle rain and low, quiet, rumbling thunder; but it reminded me, somehow, of the summer thunderstorms of my childhood. I remember gray, stormy afternoons in Taylors, circa summer of '81, waiting, waiting, waiting for the rain to end and for the clouds to move off. Bored in the apartment, wanting to go down to the pool. Wondering why it was that a rainstorm kept us from going to the pool to get wet. Of course, it wasn't the rain that kept us from the pool on those stormy afternoons; in fact, Mom had let us swim during drizzles and downpours. But never during electric storms. Of course not.
I remember that later, after the storm was over, Rachel and I would step out into the parking lot adjacent to our apartment building and play in the water streaming alongside the sidewalk and pouring into drains in the lower lot, behind our building. We'd throw pieces of grass and pine mulch into the streams and watch them ride the currents and eddies. Afterward, if it was early yet, Mom might take us, finally, to the pool.
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