Aftermath

I have talked about weekend hangovers before. Not the kind I used to get in college (and for that, my liver thanks me), but the ones where I look around the disaster that is my house and wonder "Whuck?!"

Mondays are not what you'd call my "productive" days.

Then there was this weekend. Holy Mother-of-all-craptacular-weekends. The house is the least of my concerns.

I'd like to say I'm doing fine. Trust me, about 50 people have asked in the last day or so. So many people have told me they rushed to their computer or phone after hearing the news because they knew I was there. I'd feel all warm and fuzzy and loved inside if I didn't still have the feeling like my stomach was closing in on itself.  But after rehashing it with so many people, talking about what happened is almost easier.

I said almost.

I still picture the rigging going down and still feel the knot in my stomach when I talk about it. I woke up at 4 a.m. because I was reliving it in my sleep. It's hard to play tough guy when your dreams say otherwise.

I teared up last night recounting the story for someone, because I mentioned how close we could have been, if only my friends had responded faster to the idea of surprising me. We would have gotten tickets earlier, and probably closer.

Talk about guardian angels.

I'm not sure what to do with my fears that have multiplied overnight.

Storms? Ya 1,000 times worse now.

Crowds? Dislike has mutated into fear.

Outdoor concerts? Yup, that's a new one.

The fear of storms is not new, but I will think twice before being outside for any length of time. I tried to check my phone and understand what weather was coming toward us, but I couldn't. I didn't have access to all the information that concert organizers did. I was excited and wanted to see the concert, so I pushed my nervousness aside. I thought it was just paranoia; that I was overreacting like normal. I trusted that someone was looking out for me and my fellow concert-goers.

Talk about reality check.

We weren't evacuated. People exited the grandstand in as orderly a manner as you could expect when we were all terrified. In an open area like that there were several ways to get out of the stands. But it was too late for everyone on the track. But I will pause before going to any inside venue with a large number of people. If I do go, you can be sure I will take stock of the exits immediately.

I love music. LOVE music. I want to be able to sit and enjoy a live concert, but I don't know how I'll be able to. And I can't picture listening to Sugarland without tears or feeling nauseous.

So much for happy birthday...

Girls weekend gone horribly wrong

Thanks to the glories of Facebook, most of you know where I was this weekend. No matter how I try, the reporter in me will never go away. Like my friend told me, I'm still a journalist, no matter how many times a day I ask "Do you have to go potty?"

Thanks to the managing editor for letting me share my story in my own words.

http://goshennews.com/local/x1555806825/Eyewitness-at-a-horrific-scene

Radar of doom

I do not have a crush on the weather guy. I swear.

But just because I consult the news obsessively through tornado season and refer to him by his first name, Hubby says I have a weather crush.

Dude. Seriously. I could do better.

Hubby just doesn't appreciate that every time the sky gets dark, my stomach starts tying itself in knots. That I haven't lived in the Midwest long enough to just look at the sky or the radar, go "eh," and continue my day. Sorry. I know plenty of born and bred corn-folk who feel the same way this city mouse does.

The last time I ranted about the weather was right before the massive tornado outbreak in the South, so I have to qualify: I get that we have been lucky. We have had two near misses in six years. But it's storms like the ones that just hit Alabama that strike an all-encompassing-gonna-wet-myself kinda fear in me. I limited how much news coverage I watched and read so I would still be able to sleep at night, but I heard enough to be scared. All the stories were heartbreaking. People were killed in their basements - they did everything right and still could not survive Mother Nature's wrath.

That's what scares the shit out of me.

So this time of year, I check for warnings at the first sign of a single gray cloud. I stay up until the 11 o'clock news so I can check that nothing is coming in the middle of the night. If I had control of the remote right now, we'd be watching local channels - no matter what crap show was on - until Rick says nothing is going to hit my house. But it's Cubs v. Cardinals, so I will have to settle for obsessively checking radar and Facebook (where I am a fan of the local station and get weather updates in the news feed) and listening to the thunder get closer.

And trying not to look nervous so Hubby will stop laughing at me.

The radar shakes

All hope I had for coherent thoughts tonight went out the window around 5 today, when I saw a blip of red on the weather radar headed straight for my house.

If I was clever, I would have a picture of my house with a GIANT BULLSEYE on it, because somewhere along the line we royally pissed off Mother Nature. We've had more near misses on tornadoes and bad storms in the last 7 years, it's not even funny.

But I'm tired and not so clever. So just imagine it for me. Thanks.

National Weather Service starting issuing watches while we were in the library, so all of a sudden I checked my phone and the bubble of calm was gone. So much for enjoying the sun and 73 degrees.

The red switched to pink and the dog started pacing, so I herded all my critters down to the basement just for the fun of it. Oh, and did I mention Hubby was gone? Ya, not home until after kids' bedtime. AWESOME. So I got to wear a groove in the carpet between the front window and the back door all by myself.

There was rain and wind, but no hail and no Miss Gulch flying past with Toto. But a nice friendly reminder that I live in an unofficial second tornado alley and it's finally springtime. But my nerves aren't up for this yet, so after a half a bag of jelly beans, the sugar high is gone and I'm ready for bed.

If it wasn't for what I saw immediately after the cell passed, I might be still binging on Easter candy.

Alright Mother Nature. I'll give you another chance. 

Why do I live here?

I. Hate. Storms.

When I was a kid, I used to love thunderstorms. Once, my friends and I were on the front porch when a neighbor's house got struck by lightning. It was freaky, but didn't deter me from sitting perched at the end of my bed, watching the rain and flashes out my window. Storms were comforting, in a way, and I loved going to sleep when God was bowling upstairs.

Now, a stray gray cloud has me running for radar, local news, weather radio, or all of the above.

Let's just say my first few years in the country's little-known second Tornado Alley have not been pleasant.

A former coworker used to laugh at me when I would start freaking out once I heard a severe weather alert over the scanner.

"You know you won't see it coming," he told me. "It's probably just going to drop from the sky onto your house."

Really Roger, was that necessary?!

The hubby had me mostly calmed down until this funny little F3 tornado wiped out half of Nappanee and lifted A MILE FROM MY HOUSE. Yes. I said A MILE FROM MY HOUSE. That was my first experience waking a child to retreat to our basement, which now can be known as the Marquette bunker. I could not let go of Nathaniel. Luckily he was a drowsy baby and didn't notice his mother was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Fast forward to this June. Oy. 'nuff said. Two Friday nights in a row, there we were, pretending to be camping and having fun with the kids, while all I really wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position. I finally broke down the night of the tornadoes, after we had put the kids to bed in the dark and the hubby was out on a quick drive to survey the damage. It's the ultimate sense of helplessness, sitting in your basement, not knowing what is coming or when it will be done, but knowing there is nothing you can do about it.

I slept with the weather radio on alert next to my bed for a month.

A friend told me the odds of a tornado actually hitting our house are astronomical. OK, we've lived here six years and tornadoes have come within a mile of our house TWICE. I'm thinking he needs to check his math.

So this afternoon, I knew to expect pop-ups. It was 100 degrees with 1,000 percent humidity. Of course.

What I didn't expect was to be standing on my back patio, watching clouds swirling, high and low going in opposite directions. I knew enough to know that was NOT good. From inside, I watched our glass patio table and umbrella lifted at a 45 degree angle TOWARD the house. That was it. I grabbed a sleeping baby girl from her crib and ushered all my two- and four-legged critters to the bunker.

Today all I had to worry about was scattered chairs and a cushion that made it to a driveway across the street. It's only July so I have no doubt I will have more restless days and sleepless nights, but for now I am convinced Mother Nature has a bulls-eye painted on our house and her aim is not what it used to be.

Here's hoping she doesn't want more practice this summer.