Measurable Precipitation

It isn't raining rain, you know,
It's raining violets!

North Texas actually got some lightning, thunder, and light rain this afternoon, accompanied by a fifteen degree drop in the temperature. Not enough to thumb our noses at Al Gore and chant nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you're drought theory is all wet, but we'll take it--the first rain in over a month. Kind of magical hearing the pitter-patter of tiny raindrops on my new baby a/c unit. I can write the date in Little Carrier's baby book, right there on the First Precipitation &/or Baptism page. After I check the newspaper tomorrow, I can add the rainfall total.



What a weekend this has been! Lincoln, Nebraska received much-needed moisture Saturday morning, and my dad went to check the raingauge. Rainfall measurement is always a concern for the children of the Dust Bowl, and to a lesser extent, the next generation. I pray I pass a bit of that obsession to all of my sons, and to their future children. If we don't pass on the wisdom of history through family tales told around the dinner table, we will be destined to pick the windblown grit and grasshopper parts out of our teeth again. Water is going to be the great issue of this century, and you can write my prognostication down right now.

Trouble was, when Dad checked the raingauge attached to the top of the yardlight, the honeysuckle vines reached out and grabbed him. He fell, breaking the neck of his left femur. A lucky, lucky man, his neighbors saw him immediately, and took him to the emergency room. While they waited, he was pretty grumpy that the raingauge showed less than two one-hundredths of an inch. He was in surgery less than four hours after the accident. Two more hours, and he was out of surgery, alert and coherent.

It's very nerve-wracking worrying long-distance about a parent, but this story has a big rainbow. Dad is doing amazingly well, thanks to his dear rescuers and good medical care, his own fantastic attitude, and lots of luck. That's the pot of gold.

I'm able to relax, and to appreciate the return of the hummingbirds to my patio after the rain. I've had such a shower of support and love that my raingauge is overflowing. I'm sending my gratitude out through the mist and light.