Singing in the Rain in Malvern

Well, the neighbors got quite an eyeful today during the 8 o’clock downpour hour.  The morning paper lie at the bottom of the driveway squarely in the path of the run off rain waters.  I decided to retrieve it. Not that it would be any good after the soaking.  Not that it would be any good even before the soaking.  I am sure you know of which daily pulp fiction I sing!

Anyway, I hadn’t gotten out of my mu-mu and into respectable (very respectable by today’s standards) summer attire as yet.  So, I decided to wing it.  We live on a cul de sac and have very good neighbors.  What’s a mu-mu between friends?

Barefoot (not pregnant), I made the mad dash down the drive, pelted with warm raindrops all the way to and from my target, retrieving it with one fell swoop (I have yet to figure out what a “fell swoop” is) and returned to my lair.  The paper was soaked beyond recognition.  Slow news day?  Definitely a no-news day.  Thank God for Action News.  I only get the paper for the obituaries anyway.  If I’m not in them, I’m going to have a great day.  Who needs the horoscope column with its predictions anyhow?  If I am above the dirt line, it’s a great day!

My daughter was watching me from the window with chagrin.  I have always provided my daughter with a healthy case of chagrin.  Just her luck to have me for a mother.  Not a fashion statement.  Not a trendsetter, jetsetter, or maven of means.  Just a crazy lady singing Gene Kelly’s theme song and running in the rain in her mu-mu during the light of day for  all the world (three houses’ worth) to see.

I got back in and dabbed at the almost instantly evaporating-on-my-hide raindrops and caught sight of her stink-eye aimed at  my sopping limp treasure and me.  “Really, Mom?  Was it worth it?”  Yes.  It was.

Back in the days before East Whiteland Swim Club (which opened circa 1955), we didn’t have too many options in Malvern for a brisk dunk in the water to cool off on a summer’s day.  Yes, we had Mom’s washtubs with not enough room for the backstroke but just enough for you and your panties to splash in.  Boys took to Valley Creek or the Malvern Prep if they dared.  Later, we had blow-up pools, rubber rings of green, algae-filled wetness (not permitted to change the water each day; too expensive).  Years later brought the slip and slide, wet-plastic, skim across the front yard and potentially break a bone aquatic experience.

But oh for a summer rain.  Oh, for Mom to say: “Yes. It’s okay to go outside and splash in the puddles in a downpour.”  (Malvern had no kids gathering around open fire hydrants, nor did our friends in the rustic suburbs on Grubb, Crumley, Duffryn, and Lloyd Avenues backed by Greentree and Sandy lanes in the new Greentree Farms Development).  What joy to see a bevy of kiddies in bathing suits (or the aforementioned underpants) whooping and giggling and splashing with unbridled joy.  Until the first roll of thunder and flash of lightening!  Olympic sprinters appeared lethargic in comparison to our fleet little feet scattering for the indoors and safety.

If I told my grandkids to go outside and play in the rain (close as we were to it at the Kimberton Fair the other evening in a downpour rivaling Noah’s), I’d get the junior stink-eye times two.  Nor shall they ever know the excitement of having the Good Humor Man show up like a rainbow on wheels after Mother Nature’s freebie waterpark with his weekly nickel specials.

I hope my neighbors will forgive my return to those thrilling days of yesteryear today.  At least I wasn’just in my panties when I did it.  For that, my daughter is grateful.