I think we can all agree that we had a fairly easy winter and got away pretty lucky. Sure, we had a few days of super low temps and a couple of quick snowfalls, but for the most part, this winter season was blessedly boring.
I didn't realize, however, that we'd be making up for it by enjoying DANGER SPRING. Frolic at your own risk, I guess.
There's a few things you can trust me to never shut up about: The merits of UK indie music circa 1988-1992. The cultural signifigance of "Twin Peaks." UFOs. Ghosts. Contemporary DJ philosophy. How my cats are da cutest widdle kittles on da whole pwanet. And, most definitely, how very badly I someday want to see a tornado with my own eyes.
There are, however, caveats to my tornado viewing request. I only want to see one from a VERY safe distance, and only if it's majestically tearing through an empty pasture or something and not ruining lives. Essentially what I crave is a tornado zoo. I would pay good money to watch a tornado safely lay waste to an uninhabited dusty field.
The only problem? Tornados are not especially known for their safety or cooperation.
Tornados don't patiently whirl around fields while we choose the best selfie pose. Tornados don't know the difference between empty pastures and shopping malls. You seldom hear things like, "an EF-5 tornado touched down last night... and everyone was fine." Tornados are scary and powerful, dangerous and humbling, and the reason words like "awesome" were invented.
The good news is that we have some excellent meterologists in town devoted to storm tracking. But, it turns out, I can barely see them -- anytime the weather acts up, my local cable provider continually interrupts the TV signal with robot-voiced emergency announcements from the National Weather Service. This would be great if I'd been watching a Law & Order marathon, but when I'm already watching comprehensive local weather coverage, the constant interruptions are nothing less than maddening. There was a moment last Friday when my TV, my weather radio, my home security system, my cell phone, AND the sirens outside were all blaring at once. I have stood in the fifth row at a My Bloody Valentine concert and been less sonically assaulted. I was indeed alerted to the storms, but now I have tinnitus. Yay.
I grew up in a house that was virtually tornado-proof, so I never feared tornados the way tornados need to be feared. All it took was a first-hand look at communities hit hard by twisters to instill that needed fear. I saw Fruitland in 2007, I saw Washington in 2013, and this past weekend, I drove through Charlotte and once again saw the aftermath of nature's ugly middle finger.
Tornados also don't usually look as photogenic as the ones you see on TV. Sometimes, you can't even see them at all. Oftentimes, tornados are wrapped in horrible storms and just sweep across the landscape like grey and gloomy blankets of wind, muck, and especially hail. I've found that my enjoyment of storms is considerably less as a home-owner than when I was renting. I remember a day when I thought hail was "neato." Now, even the mere mention of the word makes me cringe.
But my LEAST favorite storm threat is the one happening as I type this. It's currently 8:19 p.m. on Tuesday night and we're under a tornado watch. I don't know what I could possibly watch for, though, because it's pitch black outside. Darkness takes whatever excitement I harbor for tornados and just turns it into fear. Earlier today, a tornado caused havoc and damage just a few miles away in Colona. Tonight, they say one could pop up unexpectedly at any time -- in the pitch middle of the dark. Nighty night, sleep tight, don't let THE FLYING DEBRIS IMPALE YOU, I guess.
I have zero confidence in my ability to stay atop of overnight storms. Last night, we had a doozy of a thunderstorm roll through at 5 a.m., dropping sheets of rain, loud claps of thunder, and a considerable amount of hail. At least, that's what people tell me. I slept right through it all.
The only reason I even knew anything happened is because I woke up to a kajillion expired alerts on my phone. While sitting roughly three feet from my head, my phone was sounding alarms throughout the night and I slept through it all like it was playing Brahm's Lullaby. The only reason I know it hailed is because I rewound my outdoor security camera and watched it. If a tornado were to attack at 3 a.m., I'd probably wake up four hours later surrounded by singing munchkins, wondering which lady with weird shoes my house just landed on.
I'd go on cursing Danger Spring, but I don't want to jinx things. Tornado season has barely begun, places up north are still getting snow, and last I heard, we have somewhere between a 0 and 251% chance of spring flooding, which is definitely NOT the destination I want to reach when I get to the end of Tornado Alley. In the meantime, I shall batten down the hatches (which I'm pretty sure means we're supposed to line our windows with baseball bats, right?)
Last one to Oz is a rotten egg!
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