One topic of conversation that Mom, Dad, and I never tired of was weather. Mom was an inveterate record-keeper of weather statistics, and I inherited that trait from her; since my retirement from teaching in 2000, I have kept records of the highs, lows, rainfall, and memorable weather events on a daily basis, and every day Dad and I would discuss the weather, comparing it with the same day's weather in years past.
This has been an excessively dry summer here in Georgia; at our house, we're some ten inches below normal in rainfall for the year (although we're still ahead on a five-year basis, for those who like to look at the big picture), and in Rome, the situation is far more dire at almost twenty inches below normal. Before Dad was taken from us, he and I had kept each other apprised of the dryness in both Rome and Marietta, and we'd frequently wish for rain for either our locale or the other's.
According to the only records I can find, I was born at about 2 in the afternoon on August 26, 1953.
Today, at about 1:30, a uniformly dark cloud moved over our area and, at about 2 in the afternoon, it began to rain. It rained steadily for an hour, giving us almost an inch of soaking rain with no lightning or heavy winds. Just three miles away from here, it didn't rain at all; three miles in the other direction, there was lightning damage; three miles north, a few trees were uprooted by strong downbursts.
What did I get for my birthday? I got rain... and I will always think of it as a gift from two loving people who always shared my appreciation for a summer rainstorm that breaks the dryness and brings a burst of cool air to a sultry summer afternoon...