Dear Friends and Relations;
I considered beginning this letter in the format of a Last Will and Testament. But rather than, “I, Amy Lynn Reifsnyder, being of sound mind and judgment…” etc., etc., etc., I was more accurate to say, “I, Amy Lynn Reifsnyder, being absolutely terrified by the electrical storm …
I like storms, she says. But preferably “over there” – imagine a lovely collection of shrub-covered foothills, or maybe “over there” – up by yonder town and industry. Not HERE AMONGST US WITH HAIR-RAISING (I kid you not!) POWER, flashing in and out the window and striking down HERE.
“Get in the car, damn it! We’re getting out of HERE!”
HERE: Definition – metal box, next to metal utility pole at the bottom of a hill which holds metal men holding up power lines – electrical POWER LINES.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Now, get in the DAMN CAR!
I drove toward town, as in – people. Humans. The Brotherhood of Mankind. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Whoever I could find that would help put my anxiety into manageable proportions.
Hello, Mr. Sheriff-man parked by the side of the road.
Me: P-p-p-panic attack. Hospital nearby?
He: Nice Mexican restaurant ahead. Good food. Have some tea. Read the local paper. This storm will be sticking around for a while.
Me: To-to-to-too cozy.
He: I’ll follow you.
Good food. (rumble rumble)
Friendly people (rumble rumble)
I’ll go out and check on the –
Oh, hell(o), I’m back!
An hour later, and the damn storm is still rocking the valley.
I read the paper – twice.
Then I went outside, again. Ok. Thunder not so loud. Lightning back “over there” (near open-pit mine) and “over there” (near the foothills where it belongs).
Soaked car seats. Soggy dogs.
We passed the local electric team, busy restoring power to our end of the county.
What? Are you people nuts? It’s pouring buckets. Lightning like it’s the End of Times, and you’re playing – in a metal bucket loader – with electric lines??? Really??? You’d think your mother would have taught you better!
Slowed down near the “DO NOT CROSS WHEN FLOODED” areas.
But they weren’t flooded – anymore. Debris everywhere. Collectible rocks everywhere. Frogs frolicking here and there. But no “flood” – until we careened around the lake at the bottom of our driveway.
A word about our driveway – path of javelinas and the occasional coyote: it is a mud-trench and broken macadam avenue that the back woods of Vermont would be proud to call its own.
I hope my tie rod doesn’t snap anytime soon.
I’m just sayin’.
We came home to darkness with occasional headlights on yonder hillside. As we were unpacking, the neighbor’s porch light snaps into glow.
Storm abating – at the moment.
No guarantees for later tonight.
Later tonight? I’ll be in the back corner of the closet (Move over scorpions! I’m coming in!).
It’s been quite a day. Quite a day.
I’m keeping the windows open so I can hear when the tornadoes whip our way – yes, that is what the forecast says. Tornadoes in the desert.
What the hell?