I had thought of a story to tell and then forgot what I was going to write, so I thought I might not do a way-back this week. But it's your lucky day! I remembered!
This past Sunday, it began to pour just as I was getting ready to go out, so I got my "umberchute" and it was broken. Craig very bluntly told me to throw it in the dumpster. I actually thought about not tossing it . . . I mean, I'd had the thing for a good 15 years. I was pretty emotionally attached to it.
Which brings me to this week's trivial and yet drawn-out story:
There were a lot of covered sidewalks at BJ, but we still needed an umbrella to get from where the cover ended to our destination. For some reason, my Dragon friends and I called these "umberchutes" (I still call them that, to the confusion of my children, although Kate now calls it a rainbrella).
At the entrance to the buildings were these umbrella-holder things, which when viewed horizontally resembled benches, but when you looked down on them, they were all these little circles where you could stash your umbrella for the next umbrella-less student to pick up . . . I mean, while you were in class or chapel or whatever. (Still don't know how to do a cross-out but really could have used it for that.)
I had what I thought was a fantastic umbrella. No silly compact thing for me, mine was full-sized (not golf sized), with a curved handle, and had khaki and white checks. There was no way I was leaving this thing outside the FMA for some wanna-be rain fashionista to take. So I'd hide it under my raincoat to take into chapel.
And Barry, head usher, would try to stop me. When I got in successfully, I'd giddily show it to him on the way out.
For those in a totalitarian society, it's the little things.
And yeah. I tossed the broken umberchute.