The Rain in Spain

From primary school through junior college, we always loved it when it rained on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays -- days that we had softball training. It actually wasn't always the best case scenario. Instead of the fun stuff, like fielding drills and batting practice, it meant that we had to hit the weights room and indulge in cross-training exercises. As softball players, we always felt lazy compared to our basketball and track and soccer friends, since we never ran long distance for stamina nor crunched for abs. But it was also an opportunity for the truly fun stuff -- sliding practice on mud-slicked diamonds. Coach would only let us practice and perfect a slick bump slide and dramatic headfirst dives on a soggy and soft ground to lower chances for freak injuries. You could have called us the Soggybottom Girls, but our mothers, upon seeing us walk through the door with P.E. shirts turned brown from white, would have rather we got tagged out standing up every time we tried to take an extra base.

Our last three days in Spain would've been perfect for a Paul Simon-inspired slip-sliding session. It began around 4pm as soon as we stepped into the Granada train station for our ride to Madrid. We hauled our original pieces of luggage and newly-acquired boxes of Moroccan lamps and plates and a mirror into the tiny depot, and it came down like the chorus of a "My Fair Lady" ditty. And it didn't go away for the next two-and-a-half days. It subsided and Pygmalionised into various forms of rain, but it made our stay in Madrid a dank, dreary and damp one.

It worked out fine. After days of Andalusian adventure, we were quite content to wander within tourist-friendly confines, shop, eat and drink. We didn't see the Palacio Royal or Teatro Opera or the Capilla Real, but I think we were OK (after all, we already saw the world's largest cathedral in Sevilla). Knowing our next family vacation wouldn't be until next year, we were content to just enjoy each other. And drink more. We huddled under shared umbrellas and Dad put his arm around Dion and me to keep us under shelter, just like he did when we were little. We even ate a roast suckling pig on our last night.

That's what I call a Koh-liday.