By the time this appears in print, we’ll be gearing up for another Missy softball season. Weather permitting, that is. And even for Colorado, that may be a little … chancy, shall we say?

If you’re a longtime Longmont resident, you could be forgiven for thinking that the last week or so belonged to the late July “monsoon season” instead of our usual late May unofficial start-of-summer. We’ve suddenly had to get used to the smell and feel of afternoon rain, not to mention a few outright downpours. One storm, on the day of our step-nephew’s graduation party, managed to turn the highways into an adventure worthy of James Bond — only without the tricked-out Aston Martin that would actually make them drivable.

Mind you, I’m not complaining. As the official Colorado Ritual Chant goes, “We need the moisture!” And rain has a way of relaxing and refreshing me, as long as I don’t have to peer through curtains of it to find my exit. Or my lane. Or the pavement just three feet beyond my headlights. (Talk about a Rain of Terror!)

But when it comes to June and July, the sight of storm clouds always generates mixed feelings in Chez Rochat.

Those are the months for “Softball For All,” the annual season for disabled players that Missy has been part of since its founding. The games are never about winning or losing, but getting out with friends, getting a chance to throw or hit, and enjoying the cheers of the crowd as you head for home. Missy will even put up with sunscreen for the opportunity to put on her bright yellow Niwot Nightmares jersey and hit the field.

But it’s hard to do that when lightning stitches the sky and rain is washing over the pitcher’s mound.

True, we’ve been here before. A few years ago, one season saw so many rainouts that it got extended into mid-August just to get in a decent number of games. I suppose it’s a balance for the years where a glaring sun turns the diamond into an Easy-Bake oven. But it’s still a hard sell for an eager player with no place to go.

I get it. I bet most of you do, too. Even without a glove and bat, the moment is way too familiar. The one where our journey suddenly enters new territory without a map — or even a steering wheel.

We get used to things. It’s easy to do. After all, most of the time it’s smart to bet with the odds — to expect more or less the same things to happen in more or less the same way given more or less the same conditions. Most of the time we don’t even give it that much thought; we just act on reflex or out of habit.

But then disruptions come. It might be as personal as a new baby or as world-changing as a plane hitting the World Trade Center. But small or large, magical or malevolent, something will happen to shake things up. Suddenly, we get reminded that we’re not the driver — we’re a passenger. And the seat belt is awfully thin.

The storms come. And how we meet them makes a difference. For us and those around us. Do we wait? Seek shelter and help others do so? Change plans? Carry on as much as we can?

The answers will be different for every single storm. But there has to be an answer. Indecision is still a decision — and often the worst of the available choices.

Think. Observe. Decide. Don’t just rely on muscle memory — be aware.

And if you’re dealing with a washed-out softball game … well, being aware of the nearest “feel better” ice cream place never hurts.