It’s raining, it’s pouring.

That’s been the situation where I live for too many days lately. Yesterday, we had another wild storm.

As the rain and wind increased, a poem my grandmother quoted during rainstorms ran through my head.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, The old man is snoring.
He went to bed, and he bumped his head,
And couldn’t get up in the morning.

With a quick Google check for the origin, I was gravely disappointed to learn that the nursery rhyme wasn’t talking about the weather at all, but a tale of a man who liked to drink.

I prefer thinking it’s about rain. That’s what my grandmother said, and she was smarter than Google.

The poem is also a catchy folk song.

The rains are gone today, but I’m not singing. The devastating storm with one-hundred-mile-an-hour winds knocked out power lines. Take a look at this screen capture from our local news station:

Plus there were lots of trees and limbs downed. Predictions range from hours to days to weeks to get everything up and running again.

I’ll still be singing my grandmother’s nursery rhyme during the next storm, but for now, I’m thankful we have a whole house generator.