Home & Garden

Rarely have I been so thankful for darkness.

And it had little to do with the ever-smiling Julie Andrews singing about how "the hills are alive with the sound of music." If I were to be totally honest, it wasn't the worst musical I'd ever seen. I mean The Sound of Music ain't quite Grease II or Xanadu, but honestly … what is?

Still, it's like nine hours long, so after the first 48 minutes or so, my attention span was stretched to the snapping point.

Plus, instead of hearing those Von Trapp kids, I couldn't stop imagining some other group singing in perfect harmony. Like the whole time Maria's teaching the children about the musical scale, singing "Do-Re-Me," all I saw was Bell Biv DeVoe ("Never trust a big butt and a smile") getting funky with "a doe/a deer/a female deer …" And so on. Sometimes I have to amuse myself.

But the sound of distant thunder yanked me from my musical revelry. Still it was family night, so I stayed focused. Then came the lightning, followed by another rumble. This time it was hard enough to rattle the windows.

A third concussive wave got The Diva's attention.

"Sounds like it's gonna …"

But I sternly SHUSH-ed!!! her before that final word fell from her lips and cursed us with, as William Shakespeare might put it, "Sound and fury signifying nothing." Or as dude at the county co-op might put it, "no dang rain."

I was pretending it was just another night. Not like we need the rain what with the whopping .01 inches we've already gotten this month. No need to be greedy. The morning dew's plenty. Rain, honestly, at this point would be overkill.

Besides, I enjoy dragging the hose around ever freakin' afternoon to resuscitate my plants that are saggin' like The Golden Girls. It's a hoot having a water bill equal to the gross national product of Guyana and missing Jellybean's formative years — not to mention a tanker truck-worth of dirty diapers — all 'cause Daddy's out in the yard.

On the outside, I was cooler than the Cavity Creeps, just watching the movie and enjoying a quiet evening with the family.

But on the inside I'm frantic, pleading with the gardening gods for just a sprinkle, a splatter, a smidgen of rain. And then it happened, the pitter-patter of water slapping metal.

At first, I ignored it. Early rain is the opposite of a kid with a skinned knee — the more attention you pay it, the quicker it goes away. But when the gentle tapping turned into a chorus line, I snatched an otherwise content Jellybean out of her bouncy seat so we could enjoy the downpour together.

Summer thunderstorms are as close to miracles as we're likely to witness. Or so I thought … until the power went out, plunging us into darkness and silencing The Sound of Music moments before those songs were forever embedded like a splinter in my brain.

But the sound of rain, now that's something I never get tired of.