Waking up with the Weather

Wednesday began with a bang. Literally. Thunder & lightning, torrents of rain. Just the kind of morning where it would be fun to lie in bed and listen to it all, semi-conscious and cozy, while the fury of Nature rampaged a mere few feet away. There is much to enjoy about storms, as long as you're protected by solid walls and a reliable roof.

It reminds me of my childhood in Kansas, where each summer would feature a couple of evenings where the sky would turn an electric shade of yellow and the animals would get nervous. Down at the grade school, a great yellow horn atop a magnificently tall pole would begin a deep-throated wail that would rise into the upper registers, and then drop back down, frying the brains of anyone within 50 yards, and being clearly heard for miles and miles in the distance: the dreaded Tornado Warning!

Everyone was herded into the basement, and flashlights, matches, candles, and transistor radios were collected. The family would huddle around the radio, listening to announcers describing the weather that we could no longer hear, and we'd talk about family stuff until the radio said it was OK to go back up the stairs. Sometimes we'd play cards, or a game of Clue or Lie Detector. Other than when the family band would practice, these underground tornado huddles might have been the best family bonding moments we had. Sometimes, they were over too quickly.

Of course, that's when we were young. By the time we were teenagers, we had become jaded. Instead of rushing down the stairs when the siren sounded, we ran outside and searched the skies. "I don't see any tornados. Do you?" "Naw, let's build a mud dam in the gutter and see how much of a lake we can make!" "OK...that sounds swell!"

All right, I confess; nobody ever said "swell". But we did build some mighty impressive mud and sand structures in the street, and we did enjoy playing barefood in the rain. One time, when there was golf-ball-sized hail, we even grabbed the lids from our aluminum trash cans and held them up as shields to see how long we could withstand the celestial pummeling. (Answer: not very long. It was too LOUD!")

One time, just once in all those years, I think I actually saw a tornado. I'm not even sure...but one did touch down within about 5 miles of our house, and it was in the general direction I was looking. If it had come closer, I would've high-tailed it to the basement, but I figured that until we could actually see cows and stuff flying through the air, it was safe enough to stay outside to watch.

I always wondered, though, who, exactly, had the job of turning on the siren? Back then, I doubt that it was an automated system...I'm betting that some local dude had the heavy responsibility of waiting for the dreaded Weather Service phone call, then putting on his slicker and slogging through the storm to go over to the school, inserting his special key into a slot at the base of the megaphone tower, and then punching the big red button that warned his neighbors. Heaven help him if he forgot his earplugs.

They used to test the sirens at noon on certain Mondays, too. (Guess he wouldn't need to wear his slicker for those jobs.) But only on Mondays with crystal clear skies -- didn't want to yokels in a panic, just for a regular test. But if it went off precisely at noon, you knew it wasn't for real.

But we all knew that if it went off at, say, 3pm on a clear day, it didn't mean tornado -- it meant that the Commies were attacking. It was considered unlikely that a Commie attack could get to Wichita before anybody else in the country knew about it...but we were ready, nonetheless. After all, the procedure was exactly the same: go to the basement and get out the transistor and candles.

Anyway, the Commies never showed up, the tornados stayed in other peoples' neighborhoods, and I didn't have the luxury of lying in bed to enjoy the sounds of the storm. I needed to get up to go coach swim practice. (And to be honest, even if it wasn't my day to coach, I'd have gotten up anyway. I hate to waste my morning workout time.)

The storm mellowed out quickly. I got soaked getting into my car, and kinda soaked walking from the car into the pool. But by the time practice was over, it was a mere drizzle. There was still enough dampness to make me question whether we'd have our handicap running race in the evening, but not enough to cause any other concerns.

And once I got to work and settled into my windowless basement office, I forgot all about the weather. After all, there was no transistor radio, no siblings nor parents, and no candles. It was just another day at the office.

I hope you have a great day, with no inclement conditions at all!