The Umbrella

Dear Umbrella,

I have a confession.

I used to think umbrellas were only for elderly people. When cute little old ladies hobbled by me, carefully shielding their blue perms from the rain, I would smilingly note their quaintness. When young people carried them, I would scoff at their lack of fortitude. After all, I didn't need an umbrella. I could handle whatever moisture I accumulated between the house and the car, and I was smart enough not to walk anywhere in the rain.

Only old people needed umbrellas. And maybe the Wicked Witch of the West.

Umbrella, I have seen the light. Er, maybe it would be more accurate to say that I have seen the clouds. And the rain. And I have wished dreadfully for one of your kind.

In fact, last Thursday, I wanted you so badly that I said aloud, in public, that I was ready to kill for you. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like killing the little Asian couple that appeared around the corner a minute later, so I remained damp.

The day had started off sunnily enough, so much so that I smiled at Karena's predictions of rain and turned down her offer of a rain jacket or umbrella. My little brown coat was just fine, I assured her. And so it was, for most of the afternoon.

As I exited a bookshop, looking homeward (I thought.), a few drops fell to the ground. The local Britishers promptly opend their umbrellas and tied on their waterproof hoods, to my amusement. A few unprotected souls stepped into doorways (Just like in the books!). I was amused. A little drizzle wouldn't hurt anyone.

Then it started to rain harder.

Then I got lost.

When I finally consulted the map, I couldn't find the street I was on on the silly thing. That's because I had walked so far in the wrong direction that I was not in the part of Cambridge I expected to be in. But I didn't know that yet.

Rain started running off my nose, so I put my coat over my head.

"Maybe it will stop soon, I thought," and stepped into a doorway myself. Unfortunately, no P.G. Wodehouseish fellow was on hand with an umbrella to rescue a maiden in distress.

The rain did indeed slacken. It slackened three or four times in the next hour, in between downpours.

One especially torrential downpour found me sheltering under a tree on a green as I tried to turn the pages of a rather soaked map. I felt quite happy to be on a green, because the map showed that I should cross one on my way back to Karena's.

However, I crossed the green and the Cam River, only to find nothing familiar.

"Newnham?" A kind passerby raised her eyebrows at my request. "Oh, you're totally in the wrong direction." (Imagine this in the precisest of English accents. The beauty of it almost softened the blow of the words.)

I retraced my steps.

About the time I was back in the city centre (note brit. spelling) was when I resolved to kill for the umbrella.

My coat was soaked through. My shoes were soaked through. My purse was soaked through. My hair had come down and was soaked through. My jean skirt was soaked.

I was too wet to bother about waiting for the rain to let up, so I forged ahead. I remembered Brandon's little trick of singing, "Oh, how I love Jesus," when he was feeling miserable, so I tried it. Yes, I trudged along the streets of Cambridge singing about Jesus and trying to decide if I was up to murdering someone.

Eventually things looked familiar. St. Mary's swam into my ken. Then, as I stared with wild surmise, Charlie, Lexie, and Arthur did as well. Except they weren't swimming. They were mostly dry because they were standing in the doorway of St. Mary's waiting for either the rain to stop or Karena to arrive with the car, whichever came first. I decided to stick with them and was subsequently rescured along with them by Karena.

And, so, dear umbrella, since I survived the results of my foolishness, I do repent. Henceforth, (at least while I am in England, where rain clouds pop up at the oddest moments, and where I walk everywhere) I will carry an umbrella. Or at least wear a rain coat or something. I also resolve not to secretly mock those who carry umbrellas (at least, not those who carry them on this Island).

Perhaps this repentance is not as complete as it could be. However, allowances must be made for one brought up on Little Women. After all, "Under the Umbrella" would have had to be "Under the Umbrellas" if Jo had carried one of you with her, and that would rather have ruined the story.

That aside, I do respectfully and appreciatively remain your humble admirer,
Bria