Right now I'm reading Frank McCourt's Teacher Man, and I've just finished watching the 5th season of The Gilmore Girls on DVD, both of which are conjuring up old memories for me. All this, coupled with the rain, and there's no way to avoid nostalgia, and maybe a bit of regret.
While my student days were less than ideal for a whole host of reasons, I still miss the thought of being a student, of dedicating my days to reading, to being involved in the school community with an entire world of people my age just outside my door. Though I studied so hard, a part of me wishes I had worked even harder, that had been more concerned with reading the classics than making sure I was doing everything right. I wish that I could have worried less about money, making friends, finding my calling - I wish I could have worried less, period.
As a kid, and particularly as a student, I used to dread the rain. I always felt the world knew more than I did, and by raining it was signaling to me that bad news was on the way. I hated sloshing through it with a backpack that was much too heavy, trying to shield myself with an umbrella that would invariably be blown inside-out by some nasty gust.
As an adult, I have come to love the rain, even wishing for it when we've had too many sunny days in a row. I love the sound it makes on rooftops and sidewalks, love the booming of thunder, and the rush of a strong wind. I love the idea of washing away the happenings of the day before, and the day before that. I love the cleaning feeling it leaves the world, just after it's subsided. These are days I hole up inside my tiny apartment and dream, and remember.
The above photo can be fond at http://www.artshole.co.uk/arts/artists/Mike%20Hale/raindrop-chaircover-sepia.jpg