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- Feb 13, 2005
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...we had a tornado/straight line winds clocked at 80 mph come through at 7:00 PM last night. My neighbor had just called me to verify where our hubbies were fishing (yes, Lake Lewisville, yes, right in the path of approaching storm...), and after hanging up from checking on our men, the sirens started blaring. So, I rounded up the son (very peeved at nature's interruption to his WOW game) and our equally unenthusiastic 68-lb. lab-mix, Sandy, and we huddled in the hall closet for the next 30 minutes.
The hall closet has been designated our "tornado closet" from day one, as it is situated under the central hall stairway. We’d outfitted its recesses with an old crib mattress and extra pillows, though over the years it has also become home to seldom-used ski and formal wear, seasonal front door wreaths, and small shelf with flashlights, batteries, and Christmas china (and which also stored peanut butter, crackers, and bottled water during the fantasy that was the Y2K crisis). And, in the past couple of years, it has also become home to my husband's growing wine collection. (Which may be preferable to bottled water when disaster strikes, who knows?)
Anyway, Sandy was all too happy to hide in the closet, as whining and hiding is her modus operandi to the slightest quiver in barometric pressure. She got relegated to the patch of closet floor closest to the door--an area that was too small for her to turn around in. She alternately stood and sat, whining, panting, and generally 'angsting' for the next 30 minutes. After renegotiating space with the door wreaths, the son and I settled in with our laptops and cellphones; I, obsessively checking the city's weather station, and son exploring other entertainment options, until the closet lights went out, snuffing out our Internet capabilites as well. Son is always prepared, though, just like the boyscout he was for all of 3 weeks. He had several downloads of Stargate lined up, which we began watching. Even over that I could hear the wind howling outside...like a continuous purr of a giant lion in between thunderclaps. At one point I thought I even felt the house vibrating a bit--though that's hardly likely, as we live in a limestone house. So that last bit I'll chalk up to my healthy imagination.
It got stuffier and stuffier, the dog panted louder and louder, I made a mental note to get her bathed this week...and finally, the coast was clear and we emerged to view the sights in the pictures posted here. By this time, hubby had arrived home, and was already on the phone with the builder about the roof shingles which now decorated our yard, patio and the bottom of the pool. Keeping the roof shingles company on the bottom were two of our lawn chairs, and other less-definable storm debris. One of the heavy wooden lounge chairs had also traveled about 1-2 feet closer to the pool, with its striped cushion hanging on by one string.
I (with my questionable journalistic instincts) was trying to take pictures of the aftermath even as it was still raining, when hubby informed me that the last of the pear trees along the drive had made its final curtain call, and was now blocking the drive just behind the son's Camry. (Hubby had taken down 3-4 others sickened by blight about 2 weeks earlier.) That was infinitely more exciting to photo than drowning lawn chairs, so I went out the front door snapping pictures of the blown about Adirondack chairs as well. In the process, Sandy, the Wonder Wimp, dashed out the front door into the cold rain, seeking...I don't know what. She just ran from one yard to the next, stopping only to pee multiple times in her frantic search for...another closet?? Hubby finally corralled her and convinced her that inside was nicer than outside--for him, anyway.
Meanwhile, I'm totally into the Stargate episodes with the son. We are sitting on the family room couch noshing chips and dip by flashlight (so much for supper), and are watching an episode where that arrogant, smart Dr. __ goes back to Earth with girlfriend to attend a physicist’s conference. The equally obnoxious physicist is presenting his latest research via live experiment, which, incidentally, will imperil the lives of all attendees. He instructs his assistant to begin the experiment, she clicks it “on” with her laptop, and smiles triumphantly, saying, “All sytems up and running, Dr. Punnel!”
And… I kid you not. (Son Travis is my witness.) AT THAT PRECISE MOMENT, our entire house lights up with restored electricity, and the son and I go into gales of laughter. And we don’t take down any trees or shingles, either.
(For pictures, click on "sometimes I blog" below...hopefully they'll be up in a bit; Blogger's giving me trouble at the moment.)
The hall closet has been designated our "tornado closet" from day one, as it is situated under the central hall stairway. We’d outfitted its recesses with an old crib mattress and extra pillows, though over the years it has also become home to seldom-used ski and formal wear, seasonal front door wreaths, and small shelf with flashlights, batteries, and Christmas china (and which also stored peanut butter, crackers, and bottled water during the fantasy that was the Y2K crisis). And, in the past couple of years, it has also become home to my husband's growing wine collection. (Which may be preferable to bottled water when disaster strikes, who knows?)
Anyway, Sandy was all too happy to hide in the closet, as whining and hiding is her modus operandi to the slightest quiver in barometric pressure. She got relegated to the patch of closet floor closest to the door--an area that was too small for her to turn around in. She alternately stood and sat, whining, panting, and generally 'angsting' for the next 30 minutes. After renegotiating space with the door wreaths, the son and I settled in with our laptops and cellphones; I, obsessively checking the city's weather station, and son exploring other entertainment options, until the closet lights went out, snuffing out our Internet capabilites as well. Son is always prepared, though, just like the boyscout he was for all of 3 weeks. He had several downloads of Stargate lined up, which we began watching. Even over that I could hear the wind howling outside...like a continuous purr of a giant lion in between thunderclaps. At one point I thought I even felt the house vibrating a bit--though that's hardly likely, as we live in a limestone house. So that last bit I'll chalk up to my healthy imagination.
It got stuffier and stuffier, the dog panted louder and louder, I made a mental note to get her bathed this week...and finally, the coast was clear and we emerged to view the sights in the pictures posted here. By this time, hubby had arrived home, and was already on the phone with the builder about the roof shingles which now decorated our yard, patio and the bottom of the pool. Keeping the roof shingles company on the bottom were two of our lawn chairs, and other less-definable storm debris. One of the heavy wooden lounge chairs had also traveled about 1-2 feet closer to the pool, with its striped cushion hanging on by one string.
I (with my questionable journalistic instincts) was trying to take pictures of the aftermath even as it was still raining, when hubby informed me that the last of the pear trees along the drive had made its final curtain call, and was now blocking the drive just behind the son's Camry. (Hubby had taken down 3-4 others sickened by blight about 2 weeks earlier.) That was infinitely more exciting to photo than drowning lawn chairs, so I went out the front door snapping pictures of the blown about Adirondack chairs as well. In the process, Sandy, the Wonder Wimp, dashed out the front door into the cold rain, seeking...I don't know what. She just ran from one yard to the next, stopping only to pee multiple times in her frantic search for...another closet?? Hubby finally corralled her and convinced her that inside was nicer than outside--for him, anyway.
Meanwhile, I'm totally into the Stargate episodes with the son. We are sitting on the family room couch noshing chips and dip by flashlight (so much for supper), and are watching an episode where that arrogant, smart Dr. __ goes back to Earth with girlfriend to attend a physicist’s conference. The equally obnoxious physicist is presenting his latest research via live experiment, which, incidentally, will imperil the lives of all attendees. He instructs his assistant to begin the experiment, she clicks it “on” with her laptop, and smiles triumphantly, saying, “All sytems up and running, Dr. Punnel!”
And… I kid you not. (Son Travis is my witness.) AT THAT PRECISE MOMENT, our entire house lights up with restored electricity, and the son and I go into gales of laughter. And we don’t take down any trees or shingles, either.
(For pictures, click on "sometimes I blog" below...hopefully they'll be up in a bit; Blogger's giving me trouble at the moment.)
