Dancing in the Rain

On our family holiday this year, we rented a house near Carcassonne for several days.  The house was homely and welcoming but there was one aspect I disliked.  Hanging from every hook were wooden signs with bons mots. 

“Home is where the heart is.”

“Live, laugh, love.”

However, on the door to our balcony was one I hadn’t seen before.  It struck me as being so true that at dinner in the garden I repeated it to the rest of the family:

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass – it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

“That’s so true,” agreed Carenza, “You just have to get on with your life even when things aren’t perfect.”

Flash forward three days –  

A stroll by a lake has been curtailed by a thundery downpour. 

Luckily, there is a bird hide to shelter in.

We have been there twenty minutes and are beginning to lose faith that it is a passing shower. 

Tetchiness is rearing its ugly head.

“Shouldn’t you go out and ‘dance in the rain’, Mum?” asks Perran.

“I didn’t expect the rain to be this er heavy.”

Twenty minutes later and I’m feeling distinctly under-dressed and cold.

“Come here,” says Pascoe, “We can practise Scottish reels – that’ll warm us up.”

And that’s what we do.

“Look Nigel, I AM dancing in the rain.”

But Nigel isn’t there – he can stand it no more and is jogging the half mile back to fetch the car.

Probably more useful than dancing in the rain.