CAMPING IN THE RAIN

There is some great literature I read with irregular regularity. A snippet from it goes like this, and I paraphrase: "We loved but a few, tolerated the many, and basically couldn't stand the rest." The goal, of course, is to grow the "few" to "the many," so that we are persons of love and tolerance. That does simplify life, and indeed make it more fun. It also lessens the load, as intolerance and dislike causes much stress.

That being said, and, to wit, being mildly relevant, here's where "the few" come in, just for today: There are three women in this world who are very special to me. One is a friend, two are daughters. Of the three, two were off in the wilderness yesterday, separate wildernesses, with their peeps, their grrrrrls, their art, their music, their stuff. Me? Doing my thing, happy with some art and words at home and about.

The special women are camping, in their separate wildernesses. Both know how to camp, far better than me. No big deal.

It's summer, there are storms, still no big deal.

It's late, I've had my ice cream, and my dog Barry and I rest quietly in front of Jon Stewart then Letterman. The TV starts to beep. Actually, it kinda honked that obnoxious local TV station honk when you know something's awry, or at least the station wants your attention (like...).

So they succeed, they have my attention: there's a tornado watch in a few counties, an actual warning in one. My county isn't among them. And you guessed already whose are...

My friend's camping with over a dozen others, many of whom she shares some responsibility for, and they have a tornado watch and my hunch is there's no radio, etc., nor do they scare easily. The cell phones are probably not an active part of this camping adventure. So they are rightfully, and the-right-kind-of-righteously, in their own spirit world (that's my hunch), blissfully unplugged from urban life's daily chaos.

On the other hand, my daughter's camping with over 100,000 others, none of whom she has responsibility over, and they, I feel sure, have every communication device known to man and alien. My daughter doesn't scare easily either.

In days, months, years past, storms got me a little excited. I love them, actually, yet I also took the local TV station honks way seriously. I would watch and watch and wonder (hope?) one would hit near enough for drama - yet not so close as to be of any real inconvenience or harm. I would warn people, secretly happy about it.

I'm better now. I'm not the neighborhood weatherman anymore. I needn't let you know what you probably already know, and might not care about anyway. I mean, basically, who gives a shit? It's almost fun, a storm, and you've got a TV, right?

However, they're camping (I say to myself). So, I figure, a text. I send: "you have a tornado watch til midnight," to one, and "big storm coming," to the other, expecting zero back. The same literature that sorta said the stuff about "the few, the many" also says things like, "make the right effort and let go of the results."

Last night I found out, again, how true good literature, and spirituality, and peace, is, when I listen: These women I love? I love them because they are who they are, not who I think they should be. Their individual spirit and energy makes them special. If that's what makes them so appealing and fun to be around, why tamper with it? Why even want to change it? (Can't anyway.) Each of them is their own woman, lady, grrrrrrrrrrl: a worldly adult with great spirit and poise; a brand new "adult" with a great sense of wonder; and a not-yet-adult with integrity and swagger. They are beautiful, and different, each and all three.

And yes, the storms came. And no, I didn't lose sleep. And yes they got along just fine in their separate worlds of trees and hills and campsites and woods and cottages and sound stages and mud and lightning and shelter and not. And no the world doesn't need another weatherman. And yes, life is good, here on the balcony, in the morning, at my place, by the woods, with my dog. I'm not in the rain, or the mud, or a big crowd, or on the side of a hill. They are - and loving it, and I love that they love what they do.

We are each our own, thank you god and energy and light. And clouds pass, skies open, sun shines, tents get wet, dogs growl at thunder, rain comes - and it goes. And me? You? Us? We can go about our day any way we choose, regardless...

Now is this great... or what?