I tried to catch a raindrop on my tongue. It didn't work. And if it did work unbeknownst to me, which seems quite likely, I could not feel it. I did not taste it either. But then again, it would just taste like all water wouldn't it? I mean water in general really has no taste to begin with. After all, they call "flavored water" flavored because the water has some added taste to it. Either way, whether I did or did not catch a raindrop on my tongue, it got me thinking about my childhood.
By definition a blizzard contains exactly 1,456,201 x 10^23 snowflakes. As a kid I only experienced one blizzard when I was in first grade. It was the same day I was supposed to travel to the state spelling bee. I was so busy whining about missing the spelling bee that I never took the time to go catch those 1,456,201 x 10^23 snowflakes on my tongue.
When I was young I remember attempting to catch snowflakes a lot more often than I strove to catch raindrops. My mom would often recite a poem of hers to me. The poem talked about how difficult it was to catch snowflakes, "sometimes I think I've caught a million, but I've only caught just one." It concluded with her wish have "a tongue 6 feet long." Snowflakes tend to fall a lot slower than raindrops. Perhaps this is because, from a Physics standpoint, there is less wind with rain. Whatever the reason for their different speeds when falling to the ground, both raindrops and snowflakes are difficult to catch. The satisfaction, however, that comes with catching a sly snowflake is unlike any other satisfaction in the world. So great I would actually consider giving up chocolate!
I remember riding a rollercoaster at Kings Island last summer. As the rollercoaster came to a stop, the guy behind me yelled "I would give up sex for that!" That statement got me thinking. For the rest of the summer, whenever I experienced something truly amazing, I would think I would give up ______ for that. It was so silly, but I kept thinking that way for awhile!
I would give up chocolate for snowflakes on my tongue. Which, in essence, is giving up chocolate for nothing more than ice which has condensed from water vapor ...and yet, the elation of catching a snowflake on my tongue would be worth it. But then the question arises whether catching a snowflake would lose it's joy if it became an easier task. I will ponder that later...
Right now I want to discuss the rain again. A few weeks ago it was pouring down rain much harder than today. On that rainy Monday I did not have my Woody the Woodpecker umbrella with me. I was umbrellaless. Sadly I watched cozy, dry students pass with their huge umbrellas, wishing one of them was a friend. I believe we all can identify with that feeling of longing. As a boy with an oversized umbrella passed, I finally decided to try to fulfill my need (note it was a need, not simply a desire) to stay dry.
I quickly picked up my pace as to catch up with the young man. As we walked side by side, I began commenting on his huge wetness repeller. He laughed and commented on how he loved it as well. "It even has a side wall to keep out the wind, see?" He remarked. "The umbrella could probably fit four people under it, couldn't it?" I asked quite coaxingly. "I bet it could! I've never tried" was his only response. At that point in the conversation it became clear to me that it did not matter how long I stood drenching in the rain next to that young man, he wasn't going to offer to share his umbrella with me.
I share this story because it reminds me of how often we could easily fulfill each other's need, but don't. The main problem, I believe, is our inability to recognize need. If perhaps we listened a little more, or opened our eyes to see the drenched, cold begging girl next to us, we would better be able to fulfill each other's needs. After all, how can we practice compassion if we are are not even aware of someone else's suffering?
It's raining today.
Who wants under my umbrella?
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