I love stormy weather! Whether it is just a dark and brooding sky, or a torrential downpour complete with thunder and lightning, I can’t get enough of it. I don’t know why I love it so, my husband certainly doesn’t get it. Then again, he spent a lot of his childhood in tornado alley, so he is always anxious under a less than clear blue sky, so his bias goes the other way. I grew up in Salt Lake City, so maybe that has something to do with it. The Salt Lake Valley may not be as dry as other parts of the state, certainly not as dry as other parts of the country, but it still gets a fairly limited amount of precipitation, so maybe it’s the thought of all that moisture waiting just over head that makes me so excited when I see dark clouds.I am particularly fond of the rain. Some of my fondest memories from childhood are of stomping rain puddles, and twirling my umbrella to watch the water fly off in all directions. Then when it was too cold, or I was too wet, I would come inside and get bundled up in a blanket by mom and settle in with a Nancy Drew mystery, or watch Singing in the Rain with my family. Then the rain would stop, and the sun would come out, and everything would look so vibrant and beautiful. The streets were shiny, the grass was greener, and I would run outside to look for rainbows, and play with the worms. I remember driving in the car with dad and his camera, trying to catch the rainbows, and discussing the science behind what we were seeing. We both knew we’d never really find the end of the rainbow, but it was so much fun to try!On the few occasions we would have fog I liked to watch the way it swirled around the lamppost in my front yard, and imagining I was in a mystery novel of my own. I would pretend that I was the intrepid detective waiting for my sketchy source to come through for me with a lead. I also liked to imagine what it would be like to be the villain, hiding in the shadows, invisible to my prey, waiting oh, so patiently for the perfect moment to strike.
Then there was the magic. My dad read me all kinds of fantasy novels from The Hobbit, with it’s Misty Mountains, to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and it’s cyclone. Weather then received mystical qualities and I was no longer looking out my window at a fog, but instead it was a magical mist with the power to transport me to another world where there were dragons, and fairies, and trolls, if I but cast the right spell!
When I was depressed I would imagine myself fading into it, becoming an ethereal wisp, invisible and intangible amid the rest. Sometimes it was comforting to think about dissolving into nothingness, and at other times I was afraid I would. I was always so torn between wanting to be left alone, and desperately wishing for attention. I wish I could say I’ve outgrown those feelings.Thunder and lightning have always fascinated me. I do not remember ever being afraid of them, at least not in the way I’ve seen my younger siblings fear. I don’t want it to stop, or go away. I want more! I want louder! I want to feel the vibration of the thunder in my bones! Even now when a storm rolls in I race to the window, wide eyed and expectant.
I tend to seek out the things that scare people. As a child I became obsessed with medieval torture. I read literally every book I could find in the library on the subject, and often spent time inventing my own torture devices. I never used them on anyone, or even really thought about it. It was all about the science and the shock factor, I think. Maybe I just have a morbid curiosity. I was the only girl in my science class to actually dissect the frog they gave us. All the other girls, and some of the boys, were too squeamish, but it just didn’t bother me. I liked it. It was fascinating to see the insides of a real animal, not a photograph, or plastic replica, but real flesh, and blood, and bone.
So maybe I like bad weather because it inspires my curiosity, or maybe the darkness in me sees the dark of the clouds and feels at home there. Either way I am drawn to it, and does it really matter why? It is part of who I am, and I will not apologize for being me! I may not be perfect, but I am unique, and after all, isn’t that what makes this world of ours worth living in? Isn’t that what life is all about?