November 20, 1985
As the rains descended from the skies last week I found myself, as usual, with no umbrella or a poor excuse for one. Every year I buy at least two or three to match raincoats, boots and the size of the person to be rained upon. However, they seem to end up in never-never land along with ball point pens, socks and flashlights.
Over the years I’ve bought huge, black automatic-opening ones, feminine pastel ruffled fashionables, bright-colored (hopefully hard to lose) types, fold-up purse sized ones and numerous character covered plastic varieties.
It seems my umbrella always manages to surface from the confines of the closet on rainy mornings as the kids dash out the door. I’m left with the short handled Strawberry Shortcake (the size of a handkerchief) number or the discarded, but never thrown out, last year’s model with uncapped metal prongs protruding from a long stick with no handle.
I’ve tried to determine where all the umbrellas have gone and have come to a few conclusions. We have a variety of places for wet umbrellas from the porch or bathtub to a special holder. If it stops raining after we get where we’re going the umbrella usually stays whether it be Grandma’s house, the car or school only to be remembered the next time it showers.
I did actually put one umbrella in the trash this year. It was a pastel blue, fold-up, automatic opening model. However, it never really opened or closed properly and I was always drenched by the time I got through struggling with this temperamental rain catcher. After finally succeeding in closing it and pitching in on the floor of the car it was known to suddenly burst open spraying raindrops all over and scaring me half to death as I drove down the road.
If we are to continue having this rainy season for forty more days and nights I guess I’ll forget about my umbrella dilemma and keep my head dry in the ark.