Winded . . .

It has been a rather strange day, from start to finish.  Early this morning, my kids and I awoke to a tornado warning that required us to cram into our pantry with the two dogs, an array of canned goods, and miscellaneous items I spent most of the night collecting and cramming into shelves.  Items including, but certainly not limited to, personal records, water, duct tape, batteries, scissors, letters from my brother, the laptop, an external hard drive of digital photos, and clothing we might need on the other side of things.  For the next twenty minutes, fear and acceptance took their turns with us.  We prayed.  Noted when the power went out.  Heard the sudden roar which seemed to inhabit the space around us and held our breath when just as suddenly all sound eerily ceased.  My children growled at me for taking pictures of us huddled tightly together under the cold light of the Magna-Lite flashlight.  My son cursed the squeaky fish toy which the pup chewed to appease himself.  Panda, comfortable next to her human pack and ignorant in her half-deaf state, fell into a gently snoring slumber.   The warning ended with a completely uprooted weeping willow in the front yard and a sea of sizable elm branches in the back yard.  All persons and pets safely accounted for.

SETTING THE SCENE



Seven years ago I spent a backbreaking day digging and picking through chunks of clay and rock to plant that lovely willow in the southeast corner of our front lawn; this spring it was the prettiest testament to natural beauty on our entire property.  Just glorious!  Hank the Wonder Pup loved to run up under it and sit; Fabio the Princely Cat enjoyed climbing up and down it's length.  I'd always envisioned my own weeping willow dancing in the wind, whipping to and fro in stronger gusts, but, alas, it whipped a bit too fro this time.  And the hundred-year-plus lady of an elm behind our house is the entire reason I felt compelled to tell my husband about the place: she was able to calm my country-loving heart enough to entertain the possibilities of living in such a suburban neighborhood as ours.  Each year, I've joked that if SHE GOES, I GO.  Her spreading canopy has provided shade for the neighbors behind us (2/3 of her bulk actually resides on their legal property, hence the stately grand dame truly belongs to them, but she fully stands within our fence line where I love her like a beloved great auntie), a high rise apartment complex for the myriad bird species which roost therein, and an oasis for the flowers and hydrangea bushes in the southwest corner of our back yard.  Unfortunately, though her great trunk is intact, roughly half of her enormous branches now rest heavily across my once lovely white arbor, our patio with its furniture and grill, the damaged roof-line all along the back side of our home, and much of the lawn.  Clean-up will be a vigorous adventure.



WEEPING FOR MY WILLOW



Now, to bring you up to speed, let me remind you of the terrible tornado event which hit Murfreesboro on Good Friday of 2009, which wounded our neighborhood and decimated homes all around us, ending in the death of a mother and infant in once heartbreaking instance.  That left its mark on all of us.  The entire city.  But it also grew us.  Further shaped our character.  Encouraged a deeper generosity.  Perhaps even reminded us of the constant reality checks that are beyond our power to control.  And then last year at the same time as this year's weather event -- for today has been a wearily eventful -- the great flooding in Nashville and surrounding towns had its way with us.  People are still recovering from these natural disasters, and yet here we go . . . again!  Ironically, one of the main stories in the local newspaper this morning was a piece on the poor husband and father who survived the two aforementioned deaths: his back was broken when he was thrown like a rag doll after trying to huddle over his family to shield them from the approaching tornado.  He has recently remarried and recounts his harrowing tragedy, the unimaginable loss, and his remarkable recovery.




THE ELM FROM BEHIND AND A BLOCK OVER



The other irony concerns my husband of 22 years.  He missed the tornado of 2009.  And he missed this tornado, or wind system, or whatever the talking heads deem it to be, too.  Only this year, he landed himself at a work-related seminar in Birmingham, Alabama.  Alabama was bashed and bruised, beyond recognition in some places, by an enormous mile-wide wedge tornado which hit Tuscaloosa with all of the uncontrolled fury of a maddened nest of hornets, before heading on to the heart of the town in which my husband was holed up in a hotel.  25 people died in Alabama as a result of this massive storm system.  That makes my trees look like mere play things.  And though I mourn their loss because of my affection for their shape, sway, and size, I'd much rather suffer their absence than that of the children in the pantry with me or the handsome guy hiding out in a staircase 3 1/2 hours from me.

There were other tornado warnings which sent us scurrying back into the pantry.  The dogs were always there ahead of us, canine ESP, perhaps.  I almost wish I could leave the pantry floor empty because my old Panda Girl likes to sleep in there; in fact, that's where she is tonight.  My daughter, Sarah, and I, took a quick half-hour trip to Woodbury to deliver my mom's pain medication and had the pleasure of hanging out in the central hallway with the venerable elder ladies of Holiday House through not one, but TWO, tornado warnings.  When the next lull in the spring shower activity opened up, we hopped in the truck and headed back home to the 'Boro where our yard instantly reminded us that everything we thought had happened on that day had actually happened.

SARAH, GRANDMA SHARON, AND

A WALKER FOR OWNER AND POOCH



THE BEAUTY OF MENACING SKIES

Somewhere in there, an overwhelming urge to be clean, both in person and in home, struck me.  I wasn't about to touch that mess outside before the rains ceased and sunshine permeated the dark corners.  We all pitched in to wash dishes, make beds, put away laundry, do a minor reorganize of the pantry . . . and I washed my greasy hat hair and performed a bird bath on my more pungent parts.  Might as well look and smell decent for the next go-round.  If a funnel-shaped cloud saw fit to carry it all away, at least there was that one last look at the way the homestead was.  And if no mighty whoosh came in those laborious minutes spent hunkered down with Cream of Chicken Soup and black beans, then we were slightly ahead of the game.
It's night now.  A quick trip outside for a potty run with Hank earlier revealed skies where the most disturbing sound was an airplane flying overhead against an almost cloudless ebony backdrop.  Tree- and bull-frogs sang their distinctive refrains.  And there were even stars to behold!  Earlier, in a moment almost as strange to me as the those of the morning, we found ourselves watching a "Repo Game Show" on the one television we left plugged-in while under a continued tornado watch (which ends in roughly 25 minutes at midnight).  A real car repossession man surprises delinquent non-paying owners, practically whips them into a violent frenzy with his spiel, before revealing to them that he has the power to pay off their automobile if they answer 3 out of 5 questions correctly.  You've guessed the reciprocal by now, I'm sure: if they DON'T answer those 3 questions, the car/truck/motorcycle goes bye-bye.  Though I couldn't tear my eyes away, it was all kind of funky in a mildly disturbing way.  Thank goodness it ended and my weary children passed out.

Tomorrow, school and work are back on the schedule.  My hubby is done with suffering through violent weather without his family; he's heading back home after a good night's sleep.  And I will bury my trees as I uncover my property and reveal what lies beneath.  I'll also flit from room to room in our house, plugging in all of those electrical cords I yanked from the wall so as to avoid possible electrical surges cooking our Mac, musical equipment, televisions, video games, small appliances, and the like.  My mother-in-law arrives at 11PM from Colorado.  One of her favorite activities at our home is to wake up and head for the rocking chair on the back porch, where she sits and listens to the birds and admires the elm tree and everything under it's survey.  Won't SHE be in for a rude awakening!  Chainsaw, anyone?  ANY . . . one . . . ???

THIS DOVE WAS LIVING IN THE VINE COVERING THE ARBOR

I'm grateful for my life and the lives of my family and pets. I'm grateful for breakfast with my neighbor and her boys after our drive through town trying to find an establishment with electricity; her oldest son vomited his pancake breakfast all over the booth, excited and recovering from a bug. Now, THAT'S memorable. I'm grateful for my eldest daughter's boyfriend, John, who thought to look for tarp and roofing nails to cover the bowling-ball sized hole and spots with missing shingles brought into being by aggressive branches. Thanks for Zachary for assisting in the mending job.

 May I put in a request for an UNeventful day now?






DOWNED TRAFFIC LIGHT