Well now, that was a weekend.
So much rain. Then more rain. Then a tornado warning, followed by more rain, then a break just long enough to make you forget that there was more rain coming (this review could be why I’m not a meteorologist).
Part of me thought this was Mother Nature supporting my fear of missing out (FOMO) because not only did I miss the Fergus Scottish Festival the previous weekend, but I also had to miss out on my favourite event of the year, Riverfest Elora. I simply couldn’t get there.
To say I pouted like a toddler who didn’t get candy at the market checkout, despite suffering an hour of the uncomfortable claustrophobia of sitting in a wired shopping cart with my legs dangling like a puppet while my mother puttered around the grocery store (oh the trauma), would be the most inadequate statement ever. Oh, I pouted.
Like any teenager missing the senior class party because she’s grounded, but pretending she was like totally okay to not be there, because like, it was like so much fun to be home, because like I’m not a follower, I turned to my phone and watched my friends party on my social media feeds to further encourage my FOMO.
Riverfest Elora is the social outing of the year. It’s like a hometown reunion with an epic musical background. There are faces I wait all year to see there. And I really wanted to see the Painted Pelicans, because I’ve known one of them since they were 12 years-old, when they sat next to me on a school bus trip, even though I was the weird mom chaperone, and we talked music and this kid actually knew The Ramones, as in could name more than one song. You don’t forget cool kids like that. You have to support their rock ’n’ roll dreams.
Thankfully, my friends sent me footage. I was so proud.
At home, I too was getting drenched, finding myself several times caught up in the torrential downpour in my pastel pink plastic raincoat with giant pockets and a ridiculous hood, like some deranged, preppy murderer in an 80s sci-fi B-movie. I could hear the waves of Riverfest music floating across the farm fields. I really was missing all the fun.
That’s when my two darling ducklings, Elphaba and NessaRose, marched past me, with their wobbly, web-footed determination, squawking and quacking to each other, surely making fun of the pink-coated lunatic in burgundy Blundstones who thought jogging pants were better than rain pants in this, the fourth rain storm of the day. Idiot. They talk about me. I know they do.
The ducklings were on a mission because they could hear the gurgling rapids rumbling out of the drainage pipe at the edge of the garden, where the water had already overflowed the rain barrel, creating a sizable muddy puddle. They splashed about like kids in a sprinkler. It was nothing but a good time, if you’re a duck (the chickens were not into it).
It was glorious to witness these colourful creatures making the most out of a bad situation. It made me smile. It cured my FOMO. I was where I needed to be and my friends were too.
Even when it doesn’t work out, it works out as it should.
Life is a rain or shine event. No refunds. You have to embrace it all or you’re missing out.
