/ʌm ˈbɹɛ lə/ (n.) From the Latin root word ‘umbra,’ meaning shade or shadow. The first umbrellas were made over 3,500 years ago in China. Made of silk and paper, they were used as a sign of power and nobility. The Chinese are also credited for waterproofing their silk and paper parasols with wax and lacquer.
I
The vendor outside of my building is tall and thin like the umbrellas he is selling. He understands the urgency. “Get your UMbrellas! UMbrellas right here!” he shouts, raising his voice loudest at the soggiest passersby who hastily scurry along.
II
There is no romance in maneuvering through a sea of umbrellas on a New York City sidewalk. No “Singing in the Rain” choreography, no slick elegance, no graceful footwork. Everyone has their own personal awning, which by its nature makes the sidewalk an obstacle course. We duck, side-step, and swerve. More than once my hair gets tangled in someone else’s umbrella wires (or my own), and I accidentally poke someone in the arm while fighting with it. It’s an awkward dance, and the sight of more than three people on the sidewalk makes me nervous.
In the interim between stop and go on the street corner, I look out further than my shoes and further than the hotdog cart on the next block. I look out and see four blocks’ worth of humanity sheltered beneath the protection of fabric. Undulating, multicolored pieces of it. It is as if the sidewalk has become a steady stream of marbled lava.
Two tourists standing next to me share a wide bright yellow umbrella with “Large Pineapple” written on it in bold green letters. There is nothing pineapple-y about it, except its deliberate coloring. They peek out and look upward with a wide-eyed childlike fascination. Standing beside their youthful glee, I transcend the gray and burst into a warmth reminiscent of the sun. The storefront lights seem to glow a little bit brighter. The chorus of taxi cabs swooshing by sounds like ocean waves.
III
I don’t know what it is about the rain that inspires childlike joy, making us forget we have a few decades behind us. For a form of weather known for being so ugly and mean, it sometimes gifts delight. It can be uplifting if you let it.
