The texts and questions about how close the tornadoes were started early in the day at a time when I hadn’t checked the weather app to see if there was a reason to be concerned.
I told the questioners not to worry, said it was about 200 miles away and didn’t mention I was getting into the car and driving towards them.
Probably wouldn’t be anywhere close, but for a while there was this crazy idea inside my head that it might be interesting to get close.
A man who dances in the fire and has spent a chunk of time as a storm walker could be a storm chaser too.
As I drove I silently composed a few letters and thought about story lines and wondered if those who have the connection could feel the energy.
Can you hear my words?
When I put them upon the digital page do you hear my voice inside your head speak them or is it silent.
During the days before the Modern Depression some call the Great Recession I was a home owner.
The neighbor next to me was the proverbial lady from Pasadena, a widow in her eighties who drove a Red Corvette and a White Blazer.
“I don’t worry about you. A Taurus like you is solid, you plant your feet and you survive all of the storms.”
She told me this more than once and then told me about the plumber who was sleeping with two or three housewives on the street.
If memory serves she wasn’t sure if the ladies knew the same man was cleaning their pipes nor was she sure if this happened because it was sixties, he was charming or if they were lonely.
Might have been all of the above.
Sometimes I think about her and smile, remembering her words about planting my feet. I am good at that, always have been.
Doesn’t require much talent, just force of will and a size 11.5 EEE boot.
Part of me wonders what it would be like to be in a Tornado or at least next to it. Would the noise make me crazy or would I be more worried about getting hit by flying objects.
A friend told me once I ought to worry more about being sucked into the sky and then flung at the ground.
He told me I was crazy when I said I was more concerned about the flying objects smacking into me.
“Because I know how plant my feet and stay rooted.”
“Mother Nature is going to tell your roots to fuck off.”
“I’ll let her know when I see her not to get too disappointed.”
Maybe it is silly and maybe it is irrational, but I don’t worry about tornado killing me. It might drop a house on me but I am not a witch and if I know anything it is I can take one hell of a beating.
There is not much of a fortune to be made with that particular skill. Can’t prove you can do it easily and it is a bitch trying to get insured so that you can monetize it, so I haven’t spent time trying to make it happen.
But yeah, irrational and or silly or not, I don’t fear death by tornado.
I am not going out that way, life has other plans.
If I die young it will be different and I won’t go easily.
That old bag of bones the Grim Reaper doesn’t like to work hard and so he’ll be patient and wait for old age to weaken me.
Might not work the way he wants, my maternal grandfather could have made it a number of years past his day but he grew tired of life without grandma.
Wasn’t the reaper that got him, it was a broken heart.
I suppose I have probably written about that more than once and that it has played a role in the posts and pieces I have written all over the place throughout the present and past.
My daughter is far more driven about getting good grades than I ever was. I never cared much about them as a student and care far less as a parent.
It makes her a little crazy and definitely irritates other family members and people I know because if you press me upon it I say they are not a particularly good measurement for future success.
A colleague asked if that meant that I failed or was mediocre and I said no.
I think I had a B+ average in high school and a solid B through out college. Truth is I could have worked harder on most of classes than I did and potentially did better.
There were some classes in which I did because I found them harder or because I found them more interesting, but for the most part it didn’t matter.
I read very quickly and have a pretty decent comprehension rate so it wasn’t especially hard to memorize crap and regurgitate it.
Typically the classes that asked me to think so that I could provide a well reasoned and thoughtful analysis of situations were those I tried harder in.
Today I tell my kids that I listen carefully to the questions people ask about topics because the good questions often offer insight not only into whether the person understands the topic but they make me think too.
Sometimes they ask me what questions I have and sometimes I answer, but some I keep to myself because they are not meant to be shared with all.
Some of those may never be answered and some may yet come offering enlightenment in and around particular situations.
Tonight the big question is what did I eat at Eatzis that hates me. I have my suspicions.
The follow up to the first question is whether to head to the gym to spend time on the treadmill or to settle for weights in my garage.
Answers or silence forthcoming.