Real Life with Real Storms

Jack and I thought we were in trouble Saturday night. Actually, it was early Sunday morning when a powerful line of thunderstorms with straight-line winds, constant lightning, and some of the hardest rain we've ever seen cut a path through our part of the mid-state. In discussing it later, we came up with memories of one or two terrifying storms in the 23 years we've been together (one here at home; one in the car on I-16 in Georgia on our way to visit Jack's parents), but this was the worst.

Only last month, horrible tornadoes ripped through communities in Nashville, Mt. Juliet, and Cookeville, killing twenty people and leaving hundreds injured, homeless, and devastated, so we were hyper-aware when our electricity clicked off and left us with only brilliant flashes of lightning and bowel-quaking thunder to gauge the progress of the approaching storm. The rain began as a torrent so strong, I was afraid our western-facing windows would break, and moments later, Jack said, "We may be about to lose our roof."

I could hear the wind pummel the side of the house and feel it rush through the space between our roof and the metal roofing, which was being constantly pelted with sticks and limbs. The windows rattled, and the howl of the still-bare winter treetops was eerily high-pitched. The lightning and thunder were constant and intense like a blitzkrieg.

The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood straight-up and my skin tingled. My ears started to pop a little bit, and I could sense that the pressure inside the house had slightly changed. If everything in my world had suddenly exploded, which is pretty much what happens when a tornado hits your house, I would not have been surprised. 

At this point, we all knew were were in a serious situation, and by all of us, I mean all of us. Poor Josie was so frightened she peed the floor and then hunkered down in it. Kinky-kitty, who always heads for additional shelter under a chair or our bed whenever we have any kind of thunder or hard rain at all, let out a couple of screams before going into a state of catatonic shock. Phoebe, the new cat, was the exact opposite. She ran wildly from room to room, leaping from the dining table to the couch to the hearth before racing to the bedroom and back again in a frantic circuit.

I picked up our emergency lantern and said, "Jack, I'm heading to the bathroom."

"Do you need to go?" he asked from behind his flashlight.

"No. I'm going to ride this out in the tub," I replied, wasting no time hustling down the hall.

Moments later, from the perceived safety of our bigger bathroom, we could hear the gears of the storm slow with a slight easing of both the wind and rain and a noted lengthening of the interval between blasts of lightning and explosions of thunder. The house seemed to sigh with relief, and we did, too.

Flashlight in hand, Jack checked the ceiling for leaks while I made sure none of our pets had died of fright. Everybody but Kinky seemed jumpy and relieved. Kinky was frozen in place with stiff muscles and mostly not responsive for a couple of hours. I put him near me on the bed, and he finally repositioned himself on his side sometime around the beginning of daylight.

After the first hard line of storms had moved past us by several minutes, I drove through the sticks and debris up the hill and called Mom and Dad from the nearest place with cell reception. Their home phone, like ours, was out, but Mom answered her cell phone on the first ring and said she and Dad were fine and hanging out in the basement.

Two or three more clusters of storms rolled through, but nothing was severe, and we were finally able to calm down and relax enough to go to sleep.

Our power came on around 1:00 on Sunday afternoon, roughly eleven hours after it had gone out. The phone and internet interruption lasted longer - until almost 3:00.

We feel fortunate to still have a home, especially since we're sheltering here during the COVID19 pandemic.

On an unrelated note, here are some muscaria (grape hyacinths) I painted. They're one of my spring favorites.

Farewell Diva and Coping with COVID19

Diva died last week. She had turned fifteen, which is ancient for a boxer, in December, and we've known for the last few years that every day with her was gravy. She'd lost her hearing, developed arthritis, and was prone to have pee accidents after long naps if we didn't quickly hustle her outside, but she remained sweet and loving and even had some frisky moments until days before her death.

We made the choice to let her die at home for several reasons, not the least of which is the current situation with folks social distancing and limiting exposure to the public to trips of bare necessity. The vet's office and people who work there are probably fine, but Diva wasn't experiencing pain, and having her put to sleep would have been more convenience than mercy. Also, since Diva's arthritis worsened over the past year, she really hated riding in the car and couldn't seem to ever get comfortable in the back seat. The last time we offered to take her for a ride, she wouldn't get near the car.


Jack dug a nice grave in the front yard, and we buried her next to Jimmy. The friendship those two shared is the reason she ended up being our dog, so laying her to rest beside him is appropriate.

There are already some clumps of daffodils and narcissus planted nearby, and later on we'll add more bulbs to the soil - hyacinths and tulips would be nice.

Everyone is trying to cope with the realities of staying safe and healthy during the COVID-19 pandemic, and our whole family is taking care and following guidelines for social distancing and avoidance of public gatherings. Mom and Dad are holed-up at the farm, but we've done "driveway distance" visiting with them a couple of times. The Vernons are safely sequestered in Franklin. We're all thankful for decent weather which includes some warm sunshine this afternoon.

Since the call to socially-distance, Jack and I have discovered checking out library books on our Kindles. We got library cards nearly two years ago and have had Kindles forever, but we've, for whatever reason, not gone to the trouble of figuring out how to use things together until now. I - both of us really - mostly subsist on magazine articles from The New Yorker, The Atlantic, and Harper's and standard national newspaper fare, but with the news what it is right now, my brain needs a break from most things coronavirus, so we're reading for leisure. Thus far I've finished David Sedaris' Theft by Finding, which was expectedly excellent, and started both Becoming by Michelle Obama and a book of short true-crime pieces by Michael Connelly. Jack has been checking out magazines, and fortunate

At first I was skeptical about reading on the Kindle mostly because of feelings that electronic reading is a betrayal of the "real books" I've loved forever. While I still love and prefer everything about paper, I love my Kindle, too. Being able to have two or more books going at once is like a magic trick, and so is having the ability to set multiple bookmarks and notes without committing a whole pad of Post-It notes to the effort. If you don't know what a word means, press it with your finger and a dictionary box pops up to tell you what it means. If you don't understand a literary or historic reference, the same action gives you the 411 from Wikipedia. I know I'm late to the game, but I finally got there.

Jack and I want the daily *daily* of how many COVID cases there are here in Tennessee and more specifically here in DeKalb (currently 1) and anything new or meaningful, but opinions and speculation and the politics of contagion are exhausting and unhelpful.