Every Bit as Good as a Good Cry

Some people weep easily and even though crying in our culture tends to be embarrassing, I'm always slightly envious of the people who can let their tears flow whenever they feel like it.

As a child I was a champion weeper, but later on - don't remember when or why - I mostly just stopped crying.

I'm not cold as a stone. It wasn't hard at all to weep when my parents died, when my sister died, last summer when my friend Chevy died. I cried at my nephew's wedding last May, too, and sobbed like a baby when I lost a good friend in July. But I don't think I've cried since then.

Did you know that a hard cry (including sobbing) clears the abdominal lymph glands? It's so healing. Certain toxins and traces of extraneous hormones also get washed away with tears. In fairytales, tears have magical properties - they warm the frozen hearts of heroes who have been entranced by evil witches, they bring sight back to blind eyes, that sort of thing.

The rain (that continues to fall this morning) feels like a good cry, a release, a thorough cleansing of sky, earth, pavements. It's even washing away the pidgeon guano that sticks like glue to the statues of soldiers on horseback scattered throughout DC.



Usually after three or four days of rain, I get a little stir crazy, I want to see the blue sky again, but this time around, it's different. It's worth the soggy boots, unruly umbrella, the leaves plastered to sidewalks and cars, the fact that I have to get the towel and dry off Jake after every walk. It's worth every inconvenience to finally emerge from the prolonged drought.

I'm feeling for everyone in Georgia right now where it's still terribly dry. May the rain find its way deeper into the southeast. And in the meantime, many sincere thanks to the weather gods for this beautiful four day marathon of soft rain.