It was a chilly, dismal, muggy rainy morning and early afternoon here in Brooklyn today. Something about this kind of day always puts me in a sentimental and nostalgic frame of mind. Not sad or weepy, but deeply emotional.
I paced my apartment, restless, watching the play of water hitting the street and splattering against my windows. I was struck with this overwhelming desire to be somewhere else – to be someone else – anything but to remain behind my windows watching the rain.
My plan for the day was to take a trip to Michaels and by some art framing supplies – a good twenty minute walk from my home. The storm was predicted to break at 2:00, but it was 11:30 and there was no way I was going to wait. So, I put on old shoes, slightly rumpled clothes and – under cover of a battered umbrella – commenced the trek to Atlantic Avenue.
Along the way, thoughts of two things wended their way into my consciousness: Rain; one of my favorite Joan Crawford movies, and the Barbra Streisand song Kiss Me in The Rain. I sang the latter to myself as I contemplated the sadness of the former. I realized that there is a poignancy to both the film and the song – although polls apart in sentiment – to which I have always related on a deep, personal level.
I have no idea.
No one ever kissed me in the rain and I was never a prostitute.
Who knows …
Maybe in another life.
There is a germ of a new novel growing in me. Hopefully, I will find a way to create something that lives up to my inspiration.