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.

Thunder and Rainbows and the Indiana Dunes

Stealing a "westernism" from friend Katie Sherrod's recent blog: There are two ways to argue with a woman. Neither one works.

It's been one of the hottest Junes on record in Fort Worth, and we've had no appreciable rain since mid-May. But tonight, I heard thunder rumble, although in the distance, and went out on the porch to look. I didn't see any particularly promising clouds, but there was a gorgeous rainbow in the eastern sky and, later, a faint double rainbow. I came back in to get a glass of wine and a book and went out to enjoy the thunder and wonderful breeze that had blown up.
When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the Indiana Dunes, right at the foot of Lake Michigan, and I can remember watching storms roll down the lake toward us, churning up whitecaps. Dad would rush to put the windows in--they were the kind you took completely out and left the screens--but I'd sometimes sneak out to the screened porch and enjoy the wind. It was really a primitive cabin--we had to walk a mile, either through the woods or down the beach, to get there, carrying all our supplies. We always chose the woods, and I hated it when we arrived after dark, because the woods scared me. There was no running water (a cistern, which meant dishes had to be scalded after they were washed). The bathroom was an outhouse down the hill in the woods--hated that at night too. No electricity, so we read by Aladdin lamps, but Dad was always cautioning us not to turn them so high or we'd scorch the mantle; the result was little incentive to read because it was dark. Our "refrigerator" was a hole in the ground, with a box that could be raised and lowered by--I guess you'd call it a pulley. Every so often the ice man came, and we pulled up the box, so he could drop a big cube of ice--I mean really big--in the hole. Then you had to keep the milk in the bottom shelf, closest to the ice. Drinking water had to be carried up three flights of stairs from the beach, where it came clean, filtered by the sand, from a hand pump.I remember one night when we heard this strange "plop" and discovered a mouse had drowned in one of the pails of drinking water. For all its primitive aspects, I loved that cabin, and storms always make me think of it and life in the Dunes. It was there that I told my mom one night that if I woke up and said, "Ho, ho" it meant that I wanted summer sausage; she said if she said, "Ho, ho" back, it meant, "Go get it yourself." My kids somehow got hold of that story and still come up with it from time to time.
I love thunder and breezes and even rain--though tonight we so far have gotten only a sprinkle--but I have a healthy respect for lightning, and so I came in when I began to see a few streaks. My rainbow was still there. I read on Facebook that it's raining cats, dogs, and possums on the east side of the city--hope some of that comes over here, but I doubt it.
Today I spent much of the day waiting for the plumber because my bathroom commode had overflowed last night and again this morning, when I thought I'd just try it again--dumb idea. It's one that needs to be rebuilt, but right now it's flushing better than it has in a long time. Anyway, there went my trip to the grocery, and I ended spending the whole day with my own company, except for the plumber and a neighbor who asked to use my phone.
Scooby has been behaving strangely--he's afraid to come in the house and then afraid to come into my office, where he's spent evenings for the last six and a half years. I can't imagine what happened to scare him, but now I put a leash on him and "escort" him to the office. He no longer sleeps in the shower stall, which had become his special lair, but lies right by my feet. Tonight, however, he rushed into the house--thunder scares him to pieces. Poor thing--he's afraid of so many things.