We were at the beautiful Falls Park in downtown Greenville, to sit on the lawn, eat dinner, and hear the bluegrass concert. I had just told the children not to play in the fountain because I didn't want to take them home wet.
And then the heavens tore open and poured water down on us all anyway.
All the concert-goers ran into this open-windowed brick pavilion (which, upon researching, I find used to be part of a carriage factory) except my rain-starved children, who ran out.
In seconds they were soaked to the skin. So much for my not wanting to take them home wet. The people inside huddled in the center of the floor, since the wild wind was throwing rain in all the empty windows. They chatted calmly and sipped their drinks while the drops pounded on the metal roof. And I stood just inside, grinning like an idiot, the spray washing over me, astonished at my luck. "I just moved from California," I wanted to shout to all of them. "Do you know how long it'll be before it rains again there? Do you know how rarely it ever rains like this??"
But they wouldn't have understood. Around here, this is just normal life.