Dancing in the Summer Rain

Guest post by Friar’s Mom


It was one of those hot humid muggy July days. I returned from a fast-paced 2.5 hour bike ride in the country side. I made a huge ham, cheese, tomato, lettuce sandwich on multigrain bread. I tossed a small salad, poured a tall glass of iced tea, and enjoyed my late lunch under the shade of the apple tree in the back yard. The dog lay at my feet. After I finished my lunch, my husband joined me to help me finish the crossword puzzle.

I could hear the pitter patter of rain drops on the apple leaves overhead. It began to rain ever so gently at first, and then it grew into a major downpour.  My husband grabbed the crossword puzzle, ran to the house, and stood at the patio door.

I was damp and sweaty from my ride, no need to rush into the house. I decided to seize the moment and do something spontaneous. I removed my clammy cycling jersey and stood barefoot in the middle of the lawn, wearing my cycling shorts and black sports bra.

The warm heavy rain quickly drenched me. Rain was streaming down my sweaty hair, plastering it to my head; it was dripping into my eyes, off my nose, pouring down my back.  I was soaked to the skin. It felt so good. I stretched out my arms; I faced the sky and turned round and round. The warm wet grass squished between my toes. I giggled and laughed out loud. I was dancing in the summer rain, as I once did when I was a little girl, and I felt like that carefree child again.

My husband stood in the doorway and laughed at me, the dog by his side.  I laughed when his digital camera indicated “Battery Exhausted”. There were no photos of my silliness.  Good, it was my personal moment. There was no need to record it; it will forever be tucked away in my Happy Compartment.

My Summer Rain Dance took me back to a time when I was a youngster. During similar summer rains, my sister and I ran out barefoot into the meadow in our bathing suits, and we stomped in warm rain puddles.  Sometimes, we shampooed our hair, and hoped the suds would be rinsed off by the heavy downpour.  Most of the time it was a sudden brief cloud burst and we had to finish rinsing our hair in cold well water.  Ouch — ice cream headache.

The rain quickly subsided. I would be a grandma in a few weeks. I wondered if my grandchild would ever dance with me in the summer rain.

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22 Comments on “Dancing in the Summer Rain”

  1. Steph Says:

    Oh, Friar’s mom. What a beautiful post!! I loved this! I kept waiting for Friar to join you, but realized this must not have been that many years ago, and he was probably not home, and then, reading how this was YOUR moment, your husband and the dog alone watching you, I was glad for the way it all turned out. What a truly beautiful memory, and I have one sort of like it only I was in the street, in Cookstown, after a particularly triumphant theatre performance, and it was night. And ddly got a bad cold afterward.

    The words “stomped in warm rain puddles” evoked so much memory and imagery you could have written only that and it would have been a awesome post.

    But I’m so happy you wrote more, and I love that you guest post here!!

    I hope you still get a chance to dance in the rain – as many times as you wish.

  2. Steph Says:

    PS. “Friar’s Mom”, I mean – should have been capitalized in my comment. Whoops!

  3. Friar Says:


    Hahahha! Ms. Editor made a typo!

    (I’m only saying this because you tease me about my own spelling mistakes!)

  4. Okay, now I know it really is Friar’s Mom, because Friar would never ever be caught dead writing: wearing my cycling shorts and black sports bra.

    I used to dance in the rain, arms raised to the heavens as a child. I need to do that again!

  5. Martin Says:

    Oh yes, I am also a fan of summer rain dances (but without a bra ;))

    And I will never understand the people who duck under umbrellas or inside as soon as the first water drop falls down. Hey, you can save a shower!

    Thank you, Friar’s Mom. Now I want a summer rain dance. (But no summer or rain around. I hate cold autumn.)

  6. […] you have the stomach for the most horrifying descriptions, read on. If not, go here, to read more pleasant […]

  7. Rita Says:

    Friar’s Mom,

    Thank you for sharing this very lovely story. I looked it up, and Friarsmom as a URL is available for purchase…though you are certainly so much more than Friar’s mom indeed!

    (Friar – If you ever dis this lady, I’m gonna git ya! Do you KNOW how lucky you are?)


  8. This was lovely, Friar’s Mom! Thank you for sharing such a beautiful, intimate moment with us all. I, for one, love the rain and I don’t dance in it as much as I should. Maybe next time. 😉

  9. veredd Says:

    You write beautifully.

    Now I know where Friar got his writing talent.

  10. Amy Derby Says:

    Friar’s Mom,

    Probably a good thing no one was able to commit it to film. Or, these days, put it on youtube. 🙂

    As kids we used to try to convince our moms that if we brought bars of soap out in the rain with us that it would count as a real shower. That and the sprinklers we would run through in the summer. It made perfect sense at the time…

  11. Steph Says:

    Friar: i dont think thatz a verry nise thing to say too me. You shudent mak fun of peeple.

  12. Steph Says:

    PS. I don’t remember teasing you about your mistakes! Do I really?

  13. Friar Says:


    And I quote:

    “Ah, Friar: I don’t think anyone could ever be dissaponited coming here. First off, your creative spelling is intriguing. Makes you…mysterious. Is he that amazing that he is allowed to make up his own words and spelling? After all, his copyeditor friend never corrects him”.


  14. Karen Swim Says:

    Friar’s Mom. this post had me smiling and wanting to dance in the rain. As a woman growing older, and a widow I particularly relate to those magical moments of silliness that are now fondly tucked in my memories. I do hope that your grandchildren will indeed dance with you in the rain.

  15. FM-You are an amazing writer. It is very clear where Friar gets his talent. Thanks for sharing your memory.

    Keep writing, you are awesome!

  16. Friar's Mom Says:

    Thanks again, for all your flattery about my writing talent. It’s not really a talent. I simply write from the heart, and write as if I’m chatting with someone. The secret is to write, write, and write. I learned that from Stephen King’s book On Writing. Writing is hard work, but can also become a labour of love.

    I have yet to dance in the warm summer rain with my two grandchildren; however, on a few occasions, I laughed and ran through the sprinkler with them. I was fully clothed and became totally drenched. Lots of laughter ensued.

    I highly recommend letting your guard down, and once in a while behaving like a six-year old kid. Just a few years ago, my husband and I played on the kids’ swings and teeter totter at the park. You’d be amazed what young laughter does for your soul.

  17. Steph Says:

    Friar! Um…I would never have put the period outside the quotation marks.


    Friar’s Mom: writing from the heart is totally a talent. So many people fail. Or fail to give others things and people they can relate to.

    Also, I frequently let my guard down and act like a six-year-old. 🙂

  18. Rita Says:

    Friar’s Mom,

    It is clear that you write from the heart – as does your son. The apple didn’t fall as far from his banana tree as I might have thought!

    I’d also like to thank you for mentioning Stephen King’s book. I’ve been pushing it on my blog for a while now. Combine heart, Stephen King and Kate Turabian and you could make it to the top!

    Your children – and grandchildren – are very lucky.


  19. Evelyn Lim Says:

    Friair’s Mom, How lovely! I can almost seeing you dancing in the rain! I enjoy the spontaneity! It’s nice to learn that at no matter the age, we can always be a child again!

  20. Kelly Says:

    Friar’s Mom,

    I am a huge lover of rain (like Martin, I could never be a duck-and-run type), and of as much childlike silliness as I can fit in a day. Your post had me smiling and remembering dances of my own, and cheering for your obvious joy. The world needs more folks who can stop and take an unexpected moment in like that.

    Happy Thanksgiving to you both. 🙂



  21. neyellen Says:

    Dear Mrs Friars Mom,

    I know you are wondering why your wonderful son has brought you no grandchildren.

    Let me tell you. The culprit is this:

    His fishing rod.

    Just grab it from him. Crush it. Under your boot if you must.

    But, I tell you, if Friar can’t fish he will find other things to do. E

  22. Friar's Mom Says:

    @ Neyellen

    No I don’t wonder why my son has not produced grandchildren for me. My son is a fantastic uncle to his nephews, and his friends’ children adore Uncle Friar.

    I’ll never crush his fishing rod because I really enjoy fishing with him in the summer.

    I will never crush his 4-wheel drive, his canoe, his telescope, his hiking boots, his running shoes, his downhill skis, his x-country skis, his bicycle, his scuba diving equipment, his library, his Mad magazines, his comics, his art supplies, his camera, his computer, nor his Bear.

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