Rainy Days

When I think of rainy days, my mind wanders back to when I was younger and would be at my grandparent’s house. There was just something about being there, rain or shine, that was one of the greatest memories of my life. We lived way out in the country, about ten miles from the nearest town. We were so far out in the woods that most of the times when it would rain, the power would go out, which I always thought was awesome, but at seven years old it did not take much to impress me. My grandparents lived in an old farm house and they were well equipped with candles and kerosene lamps just in case the power did go out. My grandparents were interesting people. My grandmother had the patience of Job, and my grandfather was a deaf as a stump. I can remember one time when the power went off that my grandmother could not find the matches. She turned to my grandfather and said “Harry, where are the matches?” He would look at her with the dumbest look and say “Ratchets, what do you need with ratchets?” “No Harry, matches!” my grandmother would say in a higher tone. “What, scratches, where?” papa would come again. “Fire Harry, where in the hell is the fire!” My grandmother never cussed, only when she was trying to get papa to understand something. “Fire, is the house on fire?” papa said. My grandmother just gave up and we all just went and sat out on the porch and watched the rain. Watching the rain from the porch was relaxing. Nothing to do, you could not go anywhere, and sitting and listening to my grandparents talk about how life used to be. I wonder if one day I will be able to afford my grandchildren the same rainy day experiences that I had as a child.