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Tue, May 3, 2022
“Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain / telling me ...”
Rain today in Rio, Wisc.
That song comes to mind, even though I probably hadn’t heard it, maybe hadn’t thought of it, in years, until this morning, when I woke to the pleasant sound of rain and gave that one line to Carol and asked if she knew it and she did. Then, still in bed, I Googled the line and played the song on my phone. It has always carried me back to a little two-story Waikiki motel that the army put my family in, as TLA, when Dad got transferred in 1959 from Japan to Oahu. I was ten years old. Rain fell frequently but briefly. The motel had a courtyard dense with damp greenery, steamy sunshine, and the rich fragrance of plumeria.
Turns out, according to Google, the Cascades’ hit didn’t go on the radio until three years after that, but that’s all right, never mind, and never mind, either, the sorrow in the lyrics. Whatever the stutter in time, that song, or a slow, steady, steamy drizzle of summer rain, will always evoke for me the Waikiki motel and the beginning of a happy year of boyhood in Hawaii.
Have a wonderful Tuesday.
Love, Bud
♦
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