Thunderstorm

                                                                 Thunderstorm

Last night it stormed; and stormed and stormed. Now I am not afraid of storms, rain, hail sleet and snow. I pick my storms. I am scared of the wind. That’s because I live in an old tippie-toe grandmother type house that something blows off or in: during wimd storms. These are usually windows and tree limbs on something.

            So I lie in bed and listen as the wind blows. Mediate so that the shear force of my brilliant mind will cause a protective crystal to wrap und the house and protect it. Not just the house, but every tree limb and tree on the place. The dogs and my cat, Buck LaSabre hate storms, dogs hate the thunder and lightening and the wind. The cat starts with the change in atmosphere pressure. So they all come loping through the house, not the cat, she’s already in bed with me, but the dogs sleep on their own smelly little pads, but at the first hint of a storm at night they jump in bed with me. If the wind, lightening, rain, thunder has not driven me into “storm batten down the hatches” alert situation, already, this, of course, prepares me.

            My daughter came to lunch. I fixed gourmet meals like waffles, eggs and turkey sausage, or sometimes, steak. Or boiled eggs, depending on my mood.

            Anyway we were discussing storms, fear and our passions on these things. She sleeps through rain, hail, sleet, snow, wind and tornadoes. I do not. I am in preparation mood, listening and willing the damn thing to go away.

            Or, as I was telling her about my early childhood development, I used to stay all night, all summer, all weekend if possible with my grandma. She was crippled from childbed fever. She had nine children and four grandchildren.  Staying with her was a history lesson; she was part Native American. Born right after the civil war ended. So we had good stories. She was a beautiful woman with a sense of humor, who knew everything. She was well read, played the piano and sang. Her only problem in life was a ghastly fear of storms and house fires. Notice that having 9 children did not produce fear. Nor did being crippled, from having child bed fever. At least not that she openly expressed. Fear of storms and fires were her outlet. I guess. My father said to his knowledge she never was involved in a super storm or house fire.

When I stayed there I slept with her in her bedroom, except when she rented out all the available rooms to boarders in hard, she slept on the couch. I am on the floor.

            In both cases we had this routine. She slept always in her slip and underwear. Her shoes by the bed, her hose rolled down ready to put on instantly. We placed a candlestick with a candle, matches, flashlight, on the bed stand. “In case of a storm.” Even when she slept on the couch, we arranged these things.

            If a storm appeared in the daytime we also were prepared. We would jump up, drag the heavy kitchen table to the East side of the house, I think it was east, gather all the candles and paraphernalia and get ready to ump under it. Two or three times the wind blew hard enough that my cousin and I were pushing under while grandma kept guard at the door to see if the storm was going to hit. The other job we had was to open the basement door which operated on a pulley system, so if it got really bad we would descend to the basement, where there was always at the ready, candles, flashlights, matches, blankets and food, in case. This was before the bomb.

            When we went to visit her daughter, my aunt, in Ft. Wayne the same preparations were always done. My aunt, grandmas third in line daughter, was equally scared, having lived with grandma through enough storms to be every prepared.

            My aunt and uncle always let us fix a tent to sleep in at night. We put the ends of a blanket in the desk drawers, stretched out the blanket, put soft blankets on the floor and we slept like logs. Uncle Gene slept in the bedroom on one side of the blanket, the living room on the other side. Grandma and Aunt Marie bedroom off the living room. Gene always help us put up the tent. He had to step over the tent bed to get to his room, (He snored. I mean HE SNORED.) That was why he slept in another bedroom. Anyway, there was a huge tornado alert, swished through downtown Ft. Wayne, scared the heck out of everyone. They were up and running. Except my aunt and grandma.

We were listening to the radio the next morning at breakfast, looking out the window at the tree limbs, everything sprayed all over the yard. Gene was explaining what happened Grandma, daintily stirring her oats said, “Why Gene, why didn’t you wake me up. You know I’m afraid of storms.”

            My dad later said when hearing of this; “The only storm she was ever in and she slept through it.”

            However he did regale us with a childhood storm tale. Grandma, it seemed, had always been afraid of storms. And had storm preparedness alerts that her children and her grandchildren, three of us, always went through when we stayed with her, were just like when he was a kid. One big exception was they had had storm shelters in addition to basements where ever they lived.  Mostly farms, after all they had 9 kids. One storm came up suddenly and they were still getting prepared, grabbing kids, assembling everyone, calling neighbors, when dad said, he looked out the window when grandpa shouted. “Here comes Mrs. Smith. A neighbor. They looked out the window, here she came, running across two large corn fields as fast as she could, through lighting and thunder, the rain pouring down in the preverbal buckets. She was hopping over rocks, or corn stalks and running just as fast as she could. She made it to the door. All the kids were watching this whole scene with mouths open. They let her in. She was wet from head to foot, water dripping off her arms, dress, all over the floor.

            Grandpa told grandma to get her some clothes.

            Mrs. Smith said, “don’t bother, I brought a change of clothes.” Whereupon she raised her arms to expose dripping wads of cloth that was a dry dress now just a bob of wet. Dad said grandpa and then the rest of them laughed so hard he didn’t remember if they ever made it to the storm cellar. When I asked grandma, she said they did.

            But my uncles and aunts said all of this was necessary because storms were worst back then.  According to the weather experts were are beginning another bad cycle.

            I don’t know. But having these stories in my background when I moved to the country with my husband and two little babies we moved into an area called tornado ally. So I again made preparations. Candles, batteries, food supplies, etc both for tornadoes and winter. You couldn’t get on a road in winter to go anywhere.

            One day in the spring, storm time.  The sky darkened a bit, the wind blew a bit.   And I heard this horrible sound like a freight train. My dad and the neighbors told me, a tornado sounded just like a train. I grabbled kids, watched the windows, and then looked out the window to see which way it was coming. It was a big train on the track by our house.   Making a freight train noise. After that I stayed prepared, well trained by childhood. But wasn’t afraid. Just sometimes got ready to go to the basement.

            When I moved to another house. There were more thunderstorms, tornado threats, and lots of rain. Once we gathered up stuff to head for basement, opened the door and the water was at the top of the stairs. I said I’d rather die in the s storm.

The thing about old houses built way back when is: they are usually made out of oak. They are built with the knowledge of storms, not too tight and with a give that makes the house sway and move with the wind. Scary sounding, but it helps keep the house intact because it bends wit the wind. Sways to and fro, makes noises and scares the hell out you. Those noises my carpenter uncles and dad said means the house will stand.

So I need a new sump pump and to shore up the basement and it might last another 20 years before a tornado hits it. But I still am a good mediator and I shall keep all options open.