Rain boots make me think of my little brother.
He lived his 4th year in a little pair of blue rain boots - they were offset by a bright red cape and a part of his Superman identity - worn at all times except the bathtub.
They made him invincible... to the rain, to the puddles, to the rules that prohibit fun and abandon.
They have the magic ability to turn “bad weather” into a playground.
Remember? Rain was once something to rejoice in. It meant splashing, earthworms, drops on your tongue. It meant being swallowed by a big warm towel to dry your hair.
Why did we ever stop dancing in the rain?
A dear friend of mine once challenged this question as we sat under the lanai in Hawaii, staying dry from the warm drops that fell. Undeterred, she donned her tiny green bikini and did what she does best - set herself a-twirl in the rain - with abandon - her maiden self alive with the celebration of the sweet joy that lives caged in our well behaved and obedient hearts.
I remember one day, at the age of 4, I sat with a friend at the side of the road, after a big rain. It had rained and we were making mud pies. I KNEW this would not be a sanctioned game, but there was something so tactile, so compelling about the exact right mix of dirt and water that created a jello-like blob that jiggled and wobbled and never quite fell apart. Squatting with rainboots to my knees, having abandoned my raincoat at the side of the road, I was lost in my experimentation.
I felt as if I was discovering the physics of viscosity and joy.
Like everyone, I am tired of the stress of Covid, the necessary rules and prohibitions. I am also tired of all the grown-up attitudes that I am supposed to have about life. It is time to get the rain boots out of my closet. I’m going to be ready for April showers. This spring nothing will hold me back from rekindling the JOY to be found when I splash through the puddles with my saucy pair of rain boots.
Will I see you there?