Monday, March 25, 2013

Dressing up on a stormy weekend

There must have been some kind of bug in the air this past weekend. All my kids were in costumes. The top picture is youngest daughter Jordan and her husband, Christian, who reverted to the ‘80s—or was that the ‘70s?—complete with wigs. They report they had a blast at the annual Lily B. Clayton PTA Auction, which raises money for extras at the school, such as a laptop lab.

And below are my other three, two with spouses, one member of the extended family and my oldest grandchild. Aren’t teenagers wonderful? The look on her face clearly says, “I don’t know these people, don’t know why I’m with them, don’t know why I’m dressed like them.” It was probably about 6:30 a.m. Sunday at Fair Park in Dallas, and the temperature, so they tell me, was 38 and the wind at 45 mph. The Rock ‘n Roll half marathon began at seven, and they all finished it, though I’ve had no word on times. Megan, my oldest daughter who was responsible for the matching pajamas, ran with my granddaughter, Maddie, and says they mostly ran but walked a little—due to Megan’s knee and Maddie’s ankle. Maddie is a superb athlete and star basketball player—lives and breathes the game, though she’s no slouch on the soccer field either. I remember not too many years ago going to either a basketball or volleyball game when most of the girls stood and watched the ball without moving. She’s grown up in a lot of ways, and I am so proud of her. And love her sense of humor—you can see the smile in her eyes in this picture.

Meantime I was snug in my bed—well, sort of. There was this six-year-old who kept kicking me. A clap of loud thunder followed by lightning about eleven Saturday night sent him running to tell me it was time for me to go to bed and he was sleeping in my bed, not his. I regaled him with stories about how much I loved storms on Lake Michigan when I was his age, and his astounded reply was “Why?”

Texas has taught me to be respectful of storms, but as a kid I did love them. We had a summer cottage at the foot of Lake Michigan, high on a dune two long staircases above the beach, and we could watch storms roll down the lake from the north, with dark clouds, roaring winds, whitecaps crashing on the beach, and torrential rains. Snug in the cottage, I thought it was thrilling. I’d still like storms if someone could assure me there would be no tornado and no serious damage, but I’ve seen too many pictures of wind damage in Texas. Jacob and I discussed where to go if there was a tornado, and I asked, “You would remember the dog, wouldn’t you?”

Sophie, the Bordoodle, was unfazed by the storm, though I have had dogs who were terrified. Scooby, the Aussie I lost last summer, was so frightened when I first got him that I tried giving him tranquilizers. Trouble was by the time I realized a storm was coming and gave him the pill, it was too late. It took hours for the pill to kick in, and the storm had passed but the dog was a zombie by then.

I remember my mom telling me that thunder was the gods rolling bowling balls around in heaven. Mom was a good Christian, but she mixed a little Greek mythology in and had many gods up there bowling. I found the idea comforting. I’ll try it on Jacob, though I know he’d correct me and tell me there is only one God.

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