Getting Caught in the Rain

If you like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you'd like making love at midnight
In the dunes on the Cape
Then I'm the love that you've looked for
Write to me and escape.

--The Pina Colada Song, by Rupert Holmes

This song has been running through my head for the past couple of weeks. It's not an earworm; I haven't heard it consistantly and been driven insane by it. It's just pleasantly rolled through the muzak playlist in my head here recently. It all started when I began to listen to a book on tape written by Rupert Holmes: Where the Truth Lies. I'm on my second run through and I've started a review of it for My Bedside Reading Table, but somehow, I just can't seem to find the time to write lately.

So, I've been moved to sing it to myself, or out loud, or to my protesting children, as I am wont to do when I'm happy and doing something that doesn't take a lot of thought. It's really a cheeky song and Rupert Holmes, a cheeky guy, has been in my head as I've prepared to move to our new home. I've met the man, did you know? In 1990, I believe. At the time Big Orange and I were dating. He was a theater major and appearing as King Claudius in the premiere of Rupert Holmes' new play Hamburger Hamlet at the Cleveland State University Factory Theater. The director of the play, some prick from New York City, had arranged for the cast and certain others (including me) to take a bus trip to New York City, see Rupert Holmes' play Accomplice and then meet the man afterwards.

I joined the rowdy bunch of revellers as we departed Cleveland after 11:00 p.m. in a bus bound for the Big Apple. I believe the plan was that we were supposed to sleep on the eight or ten hour trip overnight and arrive fresh as daisy on the Great White Way the next morning. That didn't happen. Instead, this hearty band of troubadours sang, and talked, and drank all night long. So, no sleep was had by anyone. We stopped at a truck stop in New Jersey before pulling into NYC. BO and I started grabbing some cheap snacks to get us through the day. The prick director stopped us.

"No, you should really wait until you get into the city to eat; there is so much good food there!"

We, being naive midwesterners, took the native New Yorker's word for it and set our snacks down. We climbed back onto the bus and prepared to blown over by the awesomeness that is New York City. We pulled up to forty-something street and the doors opened. That little prick stood up and announced to the passengers:

"It's 10:00 a.m. We'll see you all back here when the doors open at 7:00 p.m. If you'd like some ideas about where to go, here are some walking tours," he said as he held up a single sheet of paper. Then he scooted off to catch up with long lost friends, sip martinis in a swank penthouse, and snark on Cleveland, I presume.

It was a lovely morning. BO and I kind of looked at each other, looked at our selection of walking tours, all but one or two of them included a subway ride, which I had no intention of riding. We decided to head to the Museum of Modern Art. We paid eight dollars to get in and wandered around for an hour or so. Then, seeing what a lovely day it was outside, we decided to walk around.

We were hungry and decided to partake of some of the fine cuisine we heard so much about. It turns out that what we had in our pockets would only buy us hamburgers. Once we'd paid eight dollars a piece for the world's worst hamburgers and finished off the last bites, we tried to figure out what to do next. Now, I don't think I'm telling tales out of school when I say that BO has zero sense of direction. So it fell to me to make sure we didn't get lost in the worlds biggest city. So, we decided to just circle around Times Square, keeping our destination (the theater we were supposed to return to in, oh about six more hours,) in sight.

And then, it started to rain. It rained hard. It was that cold pounding rain that would set Pollyanna on a genocidal bender. Undeterred, we kept searching for something to do with our last twelve dollars.

"Look," I'd say, "Peep shows for a quarter, let's go in there!"

"At least we'd be out of the rain." answered BO.

Eventually, we found a legitimate movie theater decided to go see a movie: Crazy People. Folks, seriously? This is one of the worst movies in the world in one of the most awful and threadbare theater I've ever been in. I'm sure there were rats. At least, the rats were implied. It was miserable, although, afterwards, we amused ourselves by quoting the movie in near hysteria. We were not suffering from fits of laughter, rather, feverish delirium. Here we were circumnavigating Times Square saying, "Sony? Boney!" One of the best lines from the movie.

At 6:00 p.m., feverish, coughing, and broke, we made our way to the theater. We weren't the first to arrive. Johnny had been sitting there for a while. Defeated, he looked up relieved to see us. He wanted to show us the t-shirt he bought. It had a cow on it and it read: I've Seen New York, Now Take Me Home. Our sentiments exactly.

We went in to see the show and it was marvelous. We met Mr. Holmes directly afterwards and he was friendly and open to questions. Unfortunately, my brain was mush and I don't remember much that he said. But Carla, the nice young lady who plaid Ophelia, was very kind to. The prick director had banned everyone who was not in the cast from sitting anywhere near Mr. Holmes. She saw the disappointed look on my face and called me over, prick director be damned. I'll always remember her for that.

But I digres...

Two nights ago, Shawn and I found ourselves alone in our new house. We had spent a long day, I at work, he loading and unloading the van. We sat and played backgammon and then decided to take a dip in our new hot tub. Doc had brought bathing suits, he said. After some discussion, I discovered that he brought a bathing suit for himself and not for me. He didn't realized that I'd be there for our first dip. At first I refused to go in without proper bathing gear. What would our neighbors think if I hopped into the tub starkers?

After some cajoling, Doc convinced me to go into the tub in my bra and panties. He got the golf umbrella and escorted me to the tub and held it up to mask my entrance in the tub. Boy am I glad I did it. It was warm and bubbly. And it was raining, that same cold driving rain that fell on me in NYC. But this time, my body was snug in 106 degree, bubbly water. We sat there and talked about nothing important. The water in the tub was cooking us while the cold rain was cooling our heads. And then I started singing:

"If you like pina coladas..."

Doc joined in. We sat in our new hot tub in our new yard at our new house, singing in the rain, Finding each other again, if only for a fleeting moment between the chaos we know we will face in the coming days. Tomorrow night, we will be moved in. And you can bet your bottom dollar that we will be soaking our butts in that tub until we are medium well done.

The next day, when Mom, Riley and I were in Walmart, we paused to look at the Mother's Day cards. In the quiet, we heard the muzak for the first time. It was the Pina Colada song. Mom and I smiled at each other and sang along for a little while.

I'm not sure what this means, but it's nice to have a motif, a theme song for a major event in my life. I know I'm in the midst of a storm and I must keep pushing through. Soon it will be done. Until then, we must keep moving. We must mind our manners. We must look out for those around us who are helping and be thankful. And keep singing...If' you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain...yes, I do!