It’s true, my memory isn’t what it used to be.
I forget things, past and present. Something to do with age. And other stuff I can’t recall.
I’m sure the rain used to be different. There, I said it. Back when things were in black and white. Yes, it’s still wet, and cold, and rainy. But the way it comes down has changed. Hasn’t it?
The younger folk will be sniggering about now. He’s finally lost it, they’ll be texting to their friends. No surprises there. I’m just hoping fellow Old Farts agree with me.
As I scribble these words, it’s pouring outside. Again. Every other day it’s raining cats and dogs and other domestic pets.
No middle ground. It’s either a few drops, or a severe weather warning.
When I was a young man with long hair and few cares, there was steady, soaking rain. For days on end. No broken river banks. Just boring, uneventful precipitation.
In our early footy days, we loved the rain. We’d train in it, and play in it, and leave our saturated clothes on the carpet.
Love turned to hate if games were called off. We’d curse some sport-hating council pen-pusher, who would rather protect his precious grass than let us roam through the mud and slush.
As we got older, and we combined the odd night out before play, attitudes changed. There were a handful of times when our prayers to the God of Hangovers were answered, and games were abandoned.
I have little memory of major rain events from those days. Seriously, I just don’t remember them. Yes, of course there were floods. But not in my neighborhood.
Later, as a North Queensland resident, I saw rain of biblical proportions. That’s what happens in the tropics. But even up there, there would be times when we’d enjoy calming, uneventful falls.
So what’s changed? Some will jump at the chance to scream climate change. I’m not sure that’s it. Maybe it’s nature’s cycle. The steady stuff might be on the verge of a damp comeback.
Of course, I might have it all wrong. My memory might be gone for good. Damaged by moisture of a different kind.
When this latest forty days and forty nights finishes, keep an eye out for some normal, routine rain. And let me know. I’d hate to forget that I was right.