The lyrics to Glenn Yarbrough’s song, "Baby, the Rain Must Fall," have been on my mind for the first two days of my three day weekend. I had my heart set on Silver Dollar City and even drove out there Friday. Just as I saw the “Free Parking on the Right” sign, the sky opened up and small rivers flowed freely on the highway as the windshield wipers frantically tried to wipe away the torrential rain.
Well, somehow I wasn’t convinced that my travel size umbrella and small plastic poncho would keep very much of my body dry so the Ozark adventure was postponed for a day. Saturday, I had a writers meeting to attend, but the rain was back with a few rumbles of thunder thrown in for good measure.
Sunday is the day of last chance—at least for this weekend. I’ve planned to log a few miles of walking for the fitness challenge at work. It takes five miles to earn a railcar and my train is really short—two cars to be exact.
All week, I was so busy, I skipped the gym, but was confident that Friday, I’d walk five miles at Silver Dollar City. Now, I don’t see any railcars in my immediate future.
Who knows, my schedule for the upcoming week might allow me to go to the gym or the walking track a few nights. Well, I do have two meetings scheduled and there is American Idol to vie for my time.
On workdays, it seems that beautiful spring weather sends out a siren call beckoning me to be outdoors. Yet on the weekend, my lone anticipated outside activity is rained out. It may not rain more on the weekend—but it sure seems that way. And, baby, if the rain must fall, why can’t it just darn well fall on a workday and leave my weekend alone?
copyright (c) May 2010 L. S. Fisher