That classic first line of a bad novel is true in North Texas. We're surrounded by tornado warnings, though ours has just expired. My daughter had hail at her house, while I relished about five minutes of steady, medium rain--the good kind of rain, just not enough of it for our drought. All evening lightning has flashed around the sky and thunder rolled over us. As my Mom used to tell me, the gods are bowling. As long as the sky doesn't turn green and no rotating clouds are reported, I enjoy a good storm. Tonight we're being warned to stay away from drafts because of lightning--otherwise I'd throw open my greenhouse windows and let some of that rain-freshened air in the house. It's cooled nicely outside but is still stuffy inside.
Once when my four children were little, we left them with a nanny for an afternoon. When the sky turned green, I called the nanny and said, "You do know what to do with the children in a bad storm, don't you?" We had a house with a basement. "Oh yes, ma'am," she said. "What?" Now I have no basement, but Sophie and I will go to the big closet in my bedroom, though I've never had to do that in twenty years.
When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the Indiana Dunes State Park, at the very food of Lake Michigan, high up on a dune--three flights of stairs from the beach. One of my great delights was to watch a storm roll down the entire length of that huge lake, cresting in wild whitecaps as it reached the beach and bringing with it rain, lightning and thunder. Maybe I didn't know enough to be fearful, and I'm thankful to my parents for not teaching me that fear.
Jacob on the other hand is fearful of storms. The other night he saw three lightning flashes, and I suggested he go to the back door because Sophie would want to come in. He insisted I go with him, explaining, "You know how lightning frightens me." Once there he stood inside the open door and called, "Come in, Sophie. It's lightning." About a lot of things he's fearless and brave, but storms get him.
Me? I'm actually hoping for more storms--my new plants need the rain. Just not violent winds or tornadoes, please.
Once when my four children were little, we left them with a nanny for an afternoon. When the sky turned green, I called the nanny and said, "You do know what to do with the children in a bad storm, don't you?" We had a house with a basement. "Oh yes, ma'am," she said. "What?" Now I have no basement, but Sophie and I will go to the big closet in my bedroom, though I've never had to do that in twenty years.
When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the Indiana Dunes State Park, at the very food of Lake Michigan, high up on a dune--three flights of stairs from the beach. One of my great delights was to watch a storm roll down the entire length of that huge lake, cresting in wild whitecaps as it reached the beach and bringing with it rain, lightning and thunder. Maybe I didn't know enough to be fearful, and I'm thankful to my parents for not teaching me that fear.
Jacob on the other hand is fearful of storms. The other night he saw three lightning flashes, and I suggested he go to the back door because Sophie would want to come in. He insisted I go with him, explaining, "You know how lightning frightens me." Once there he stood inside the open door and called, "Come in, Sophie. It's lightning." About a lot of things he's fearless and brave, but storms get him.
Me? I'm actually hoping for more storms--my new plants need the rain. Just not violent winds or tornadoes, please.
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