My co-worker Audrey and I were placing bets Monday as to whether we would actually get rain.

It had been so long between having a real Texas storm that we thought it would sprinkle or be misty for two days with maybe about 30 minutes of downpour.

As we ate lunch across the street from our workplace on Tuesday, the sky started to unleash its water droplets in a steady, heavy manner. We thought this was it. Here is our 30 minutes. It will be over soon. We were wrong.

As the parking lot started to swell with runoff, Audrey and I made plans on how to get back to the office without getting soaked.

Since we didn’t believe the forecasters, we were unprepared for this journey. We lacked an umbrella and shoes that could get wet.

I was bound and determined not to have another locking myself out of my car-type incident, where I sat for 30 minutes in the rain in work attire with a running vehicle next to me, only to continue working afterward. Working in soaked slacks and button-down shirt is almost unbearable.

Our Tuesday journey consisted of making a quick walk to a covered sidewalk, a jump over some rushing water and scouring the road for the lowest spot of standing water.

“Is this what the Native Americans did to cross a stream?” said Audrey as she tried to judge the depth of water standing in the parking lot.

Luckily, passing cars would kick up the runoff and we were able to find a spot that would not flood our shoes with an inch or two of water.

We made it back safely and mostly dry. But despite wanting to stay warm and unsaturated while I worked, I was kind of disappointed.

I like the rain. I miss playing in it. I miss going out and just getting wet to be wet and getting muddy under the guise of having fun.

Several of my favorite childhood memories involve darting out the front door on a rainy day when my mother wasn’t paying attention. The puddles were great. I splashed in them, causing a nearby brother to be sprayed with water.

Then there were those times when we covered ourselves with mud and played Predator. The alien hunter couldn’t see our body heat when we covered our faces and clothes in the wet soil, after all.

This eventually would lead to getting in trouble for tracking mud into the house and ruining several sets of clothes, which wasn’t nearly as fun.

Then there were the teen and young adult days of playing soccer or football on a muddy, drenched field. Those days of participating in organized sports were always made more exciting when we could slip on the grass, race through a puddle or dive into a muddy gap on the field. Besides the pleasure of coming up from the ground dirty, it made the sports more of a challenge.

After hearing the rain come down all night, I was excited to pull out an extra set of clothes and put them in my car in anticipation of covering some news event in the rain Wednesday.

But alas, the weather was mostly calm in Copperas Cove by the time I prepared to get a little wet.

Contact Mason W. Canales at or (254) 501-7474


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