oregon coast rain

Rain Falls…

NSP Meditations, Of Walking in Rain , , , , , ,

Rain falls in a new existential place for me, as a new concrete era in my life begins.

I see a man walking down the road, talking to himself. He seems incredibly agitated. He’s waving his arms in the air, his arms colliding with rain.

I write from a forlorn coffee shop in a deserted retail complex. They should turn off the FM lite hits and let rain entertain,

Soon, I will write another letter to a friend marooned in rehab. A letter a day for her. She wrote me that they’re keeping her afloat. I include writing prompts and metaphors collected on beaches. I wish I could mail her a driftwood fort.

My legs feel heavy from miles and miles of walking. But I will keep walking nonetheless. In fact, I walked in rain this morning as the light came up over the mountains.

I might hit the tavern in the afternoon and mingle with the OTAs. The talk will be of rain, as it usually it, but it often proves as dull as endless sunny days. Rain begats stories; the sun is their birth control.

I think about an idea for a story about a man who turns into a beaver. The idea was suggested to me by a friend. I wrote the intro to the story in my head, during the morning walk. There will be a creamy porter on tap in the man/beaver’s lodge. He’ll open canned goods with his two front teeth.

Reunions are in the offing. The forecast for them is unknown.

I watched the animated The Cat in the Hat the other day, the first time since I was a kid. What a delight to realize that this is essentially a rain story. The brother and sister can’t go outside to play because of ferocious rain and are bored out of their minds. Then the Cat arrives (carrying an umbrella!) and mischief begins. Mischief ratchets up considerably when Thing I and Thing II show up. Thing I and Thing II intrigue me. They seem like they belong in a rock band. Perhaps we all occasionally need a visit from a Thing I and Thing II in our lives.

The thought occurs me that I’d love to produce a podcast where the only subject was rain: rain memoirs, rain poems, rain folklore, rain songs, all things rain but nothing about the weather. Who would listen to that show? The rain fanatics are out there. I’ve met hundreds of them in recent years.

Rain, November, 21

NSP Meditations, Of Walking in Rain , , , , , , ,

A sizable rain is falling as I write this in the early morning. No light yet. I say sizable, because that means we’ll talk about it later today as we adjust ourselves to rain and more rain.

I have new rain shoes, magnificent Clark’s Wave Walkers, waterproof, brown, with suede, a perfect fit. Brand new and found in a thrift store for $15. They must have originally cost $150. I rank them well up there as one of my greatest Oregon Coast store finds. I’ll walk them in rain until they disintegrate.

The sound of rain on the roof of my new domicile sounds like a little man is raking the roof with a metal rake. It is an entirely new sound. I like it.

I haven’t lived a good rain story in a long time.

I haven’t read a good rain line in a long time.

I have a new job: An Oregon foundation contracted with me to call up prospective coastal home buyers from certain zip codes in California and leave them long voice mails that warn about the depressing effects of rain on their potential investments and relationships. I like the work.

This is a read-two-books-rain day. I’ve got Henry Miller, a historical novel set in the Napoleonic War and some needle-craft magazines ready to go.

Would I give up rain for love in the sun? Sounds like an interesting premise for a Hallmark Channel romance movie that will never be made. About the snow, yes, but never the rain.

Could I write anything interesting where it barely rains?

A reader of the rain book sent me a link to his band’s unreleased song about rain. I liked it.

Only a few rain books left. They have put me in touch with some truly incredible people.

I’d like to teach my rain writing workshop to an incarcerated population.

I met an old man on a hike who said he was a “feet man” when it came to rain, not inches. Oh, I loved that line.

Light is coming up. Time to get out and walk in rain. Join me. Write me of your experience.

Some Lines on Rain

NSP Meditations, Of Walking in Rain , , , , , , ,

Harder rain, please, to kill the sound of a crying dog on a chain.

From Here to Eternity contains arresting lines on Hawaii’s rainy season rains. But somehow I can’t relate.

A 90-inch year is possible this year. Past 90 and the weird turn pro. Past 100 and things fall apart.

In the past few days, I have talked only to rain and only to dogs walking in rain.

My best rain shoes sprung a leak.

I’m still gathering rain stories for the sequel to the rain book I will never write but am currently living.

I’d like to write about rain in a new way when I write my detective novel. Rain is always clichéd in crime fiction. I want to reverse that. I want it to provide fresh revelations and not just ablutions, either.

I wonder if anyone is reading my rain book at this very moment I am writing about rain.

I saw a woman on the beach waking in circles while rain came down in walls. Her car had Arkansas license plates. It is quite possible she was going mad or happy in Oregon Coast rain.

I faced down a harbor seal in rain.

I saw a three-ton piece of driftwood get thrown up into the sky while it rained. It could have have crushed a corrupt Congressional committee had they convened on the beach.

Rain assists in erosion. Erosion is such an interesting word. It sounds like what it is.

I keep expecting to read news that someone is going to take another run at filming Sometimes a Great Notion. Perhaps they would hire me as the rain consultant to the project. I’d get it right this time.

I am trying to think who had the most beautiful face in rain I have ever seen. There is a candidate from years ago on Nestucca Spit.

Rain can sting, the sun only burn. The stinging alerts; the burning hurts.

I recently met someone with a passion for Rilke who went to a cafe to wait for rain. That sounds exactly what Rilke might do.

Why doesn’t the predicted rapture come in rain instead of fire. I guess it already did with the flood myths that are part of every human culture.

I saw someone hitting tennis balls against a backboard in rain, with a wood racket, something I used to do all the time in my youth (listening to Earth Wind and Fire). It is a sight almost vanished from American culture. I think the “someone” was well over 70 years ago. Good strokes, especially that slice backhand.

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