list # 30: a series of thoughts and events between 8:30-9:30 am yesterday when a "supercell" passed over my house
The following is the series of events that occurred yesterday morning during a severe thunderstorm and a tornado warning. Italics are my thoughts.
1. Whew. Glad I made it back home before the rain started. And Alex didn't get wet when I dropped her off, either. Score.
2. Wow, it's really coming down out there. Good thing I have this cup of tea and good music playing -- this is sort of cozy!
3. Marcus calls. "Are you okay?"
"Um, yes ... why?"
"Well, the storm's coming in your direction, I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Of course! It's just a storm, I'm cool!"
"Okay, well ... just keep watching NOAA. 'Cause, you know, it's coming your way."
4. I check NOAA. Oh my goodness. It is coming my way. But, you know, whatever. These things are always so exaggerated.
5. I mean, nothing's going to happen. But if a tornado did come, what is it I'm supposed to do again? Is it crawl into the bathtub with a mattress over my head? Or is that an earthquake? Hide in a closet? An interior room with no windows? Pray?
6. Notice a CNN tweet:
7. Look outside, startle to realize it's as dark as nighttime. Thunder cracks, lightning flashes.
8. Power blip: lights flash off, and then back on. Computer shuts down, losing all of my work. Hmm...maybe I should go check the news... Walk into the bedroom with a seriously petrified Rufus close to my heels.
9. Turn on the television. Newscaster is apoplectic: "OH MY GOD! SUPERCELL! FUNNEL CLOUDS! NO VISIBILITY! FIRE AND BRIMSTONE! IF YOU LIVE ANYWHERE NEAR KAREN WALROND'S HOUSE, TAKE COVER NOW! AND BY 'TAKE COVER,' I MEAN IN AN INTERIOR ROOM WITH NO WINDOWS! NOW! NOW! NOW!"
10. Become considerably alarmed. Grab the now-inconsolable Rufus and rush into our interior hall. Close all doors to the hall. Realize that I can now no longer hear the news.
11. Rush back to the television, turn the volume up. Newscaster is still frantic: "WHY ARE YOU STILL LISTENING TO US?? GO! TAKE COVER! TAKE COVER!!"
12. Rush back into the darkened hallway, still holding Rufus, who is now burying himself into my armpit. Suddenly hear a loud noise, like rocks being continually shot at our windows and roof at high velocity. Holy shit, is that hail? Vaguely remember seeing on Storm Chasers that hail often accompanies tornados.*
13. Hail gets louder. Rufus starts to whimper with abandon. Irrational thoughts ensue: dude, maybe I'll get a new kitchen out of this ...
14. Push thoughts of kitchens out of my head. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our d...
15. Realize that I should probably tweet this out, so that when they're looking for my body in the rubble, my twitter feed will help rescuers identify where to look.
17. Feel somewhat better after tweeting. Notice that the assault of icy rock pellets on the house seems to have subsided. Realize it was pretty dumb of me to be sitting in a completely dark, pitch-black hallway when the house still had power and could've turned on the lights. Dog continues to tremble.
18. Decide to peek outside. Definitely brighter, seems that the worst has passed. Open back up the hallway doors.
19. Grab my camera, go to the back door, and look outside. Take the photo, above.
20. Sit back in front of my computer, trying to recreate lost work. Rufus now passed out on his cushion.
21. That wasn't so bad.