good luck rain
My parents were married Saturday, February 13, 1966, in St. Finbar's Church, Diego Martin, Trinidad. My dad looked dapper in a dark grey suit and his ubiquitous glasses, my mom wore a white lace gown hand-made by a local dressmaker, with a veil that included a ridiculous bow that was perched at the very top of her head. She was beautiful, the groomsmen were handsome, the bridesmaids were radiant.
And there was relentless rain -- the day was completely soggy.
My mother, a champion worrier, was beside herself that it was so stormy on the wedding day she had planned for months. But my father wasn't too concerned: "The rain is bringing us good luck," he said. "This is Walrond weather."
Since that day, in our family rain has always meant good luck, and we've always wished for rain on important milestone days -- weddings, births, the bar exam, whatever. Sure enough, good things have always happened on rainy days.
Also, my parents have been married for 47 years.
Yesterday was Alex's first day of fourth grade. She was nervous. Her school is academically challenging, and rumour has it that fourth grade is no joke: the teachers are tougher, the work is more difficult, and anything that shows a lack of seriousness for schoolwork isn't suffered well.
I was nervous too. I didn't say anything, but she could probably sense it.
I dropped her off at school, and on the way home decided to stop in at Blacksmith Café for a cup of tea and a quick breakfast. And while I was there, the skies opened up.
I'm taking it as a big ol' sign that she's going to do just fine.