‘     There is something to be learned  from a rainstorm.  When meeting with a sudden shower, you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road.  But doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses, you still get wet.  When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed though you get the same soaking.  This understanding extends to everything.     ‘

Hagakure; The Book of the Samurai

The rule for posting on a website such as mine is that consistency is more important than frequency, or in other words, you should stick to a posting schedule so that your readers will know when they can expect something from you.  I haven’t yet reached the level of a post every day, much less two a day, but I just had to do this one right now.

I read the above quote while perusing my online colleague (can I call you that?) Jim Thorp’s site, “Yield & Overcome.”  Through the mists of time, I felt a kinship with Mr. Hagakure, and I thought in some small way, I must be a Samurai, because I too have learned from the rainstorm.

It was the spring of 2000, and I was going to college at South Dakota State University in Brookings, SD.  Brookings is on the eastern end of the state where they get more rainfall.  We have the occasional gully-washer here on the west end of the state, but not like they do back there.

One afternoon, I had to go somewhere.  I’m almost positive I was going to the library.  I was living in Hansen Hall, and my beloved ‘85 Lincoln Town Car was at the far end of the Hansen Hall parking lot.

Just before I made it out the door, a good ol’ fashioned cats and dogs rainstorm set in.  I readied myself by the lobby door, took a deep breath, and charged.  It was about 50 yards to the edge of the parking lot, and another 100 to the far end.

There’s something beautiful about a feller giving all he’s got, particularly when he’s no good at what he happens to be doing.  No one has ever accused me of being athletic, and I would be hard pressed to beat a group of kindergarteners in a foot race.  But as I weaved and charged through the cars in the Hansen Hall parking lot with golfball sized raindrops splattering everywhere, I was Emmitt Smith.

I reached the car in a personal-record time, when I realized I’d overlooked a small detail.  She was locked.  And the keys were in my pocket.

Being a cowboy type, I wear my pants a little tighter than I should, and the hip pocket is full of guitar picks, jackknives, broken Zippo lighters, and a few crumpled up one dollar bills.  In addition, despite my record time to the car, I was soaked.

I began digging furiously through the sodden contents of my pocket trying to feel for the keys.  Like a calf roper who bobbles the tie, my new-found haste and urgency only made things worse.

I finally found the keys in the bottom of the pocket, drew them through all the assorted crap, spilled half of that under the car, spent a bunch of time picking it all up, fumbled the key into the lock, unlocked the door, jumped in and slammed it shut.

And the rain quit.

Worse yet, I had left the keys in the lock.  And half the residents of Hansen Hall were watching me out the window.  I discovered that it is impossible to make yourself invisible while you are driving an ‘85 Lincoln Town Car.

So what’d I learn?  Well I learned that when it rains, it pours.  This understanding, of course, extends to everything.

Visit Mr. Thorp’s site here- http://werdfu.blogspot.com