rain monster

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

I like rainy days when I can stay inside, curled up with my favorite tea-filled mug and a book. Some rainy days are perfect opportunities to re-read old favorites. Rather than whatever is currently on my nightstand, I'll open the pages of some Billy Collins' poetry, preferably Nine Horses, or pull out TS Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and read certain stanzas aloud. I can't get through it without reading certain stanzas aloud. Or, if I really feel the need for inspiration, Salinger's Franny and Zooey. I don't know how many times I've read that book, but I can always use a reminder to "do it for the Fat Lady." 

Alas, yesterday was not a day to stay curled up inside. Despite that beautiful image of being cozily wrapped in a patchwork quilt and a good book, I was in the office early, and then at rehearsal until late. And I was a rain monster because of it. I was grumpy at slow drivers, at confusing paperwork, and at rambunctious children. The kids could feel it though- they knew it more than we adults even let on. This rainy day was suppose to be a gift to stay inside and curl up, or play outside in puddles. Instead, we all trudged along in our responsibilities, but the kids put up a darn good fight. They restrained from paying attention as much as possible. I've never done so much call-and-response shhh-ing, clapping and stomping as I did in the 2 hour rehearsal last night. 

None-the-less, I arrived home to a husband who had already successfully crossed a month's worth of laundry off the to-do list. He knows how to appease even the most monstrous of rain monsters. Thank goodness. 

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

~ Excerpts from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot