Last night, after a delicious dinner with friends and a coffee run with Jasmine, Rusty and I were unwinding. He was playing Soduko on his phone and I was reading Snow Falling on Cedars. (So good!) We were happily laying in bed absently listening to the news when the weather guy broke in. Both of us put our full attention on the TV because it is June in Arkansas, still considered tornado season, and we could hear the storm outside our windows. We were listening to the storm update when the tornado sirens started wailing.
I. Hate. That. Sound.
I can't think of many things that scare me more than the tornado siren. The siren signals serious business, more than likely someone has sighted a funnel cloud. Its wail tells you to get your butt in gear, no goofing off, in case the storm comes and tries to knock down your house. Even on a perfectly clear day, when the siren going off is just a test, it freaks me out. My throat tightens and I start to feel sick.
So last night, when the siren sounded, we knew it was not a test. Both of us jumped out of bed and ran to get things ready. I threw on my shoes and started tossing things into the bathroom--pillows, blankets, diaper bag, cell phone. Rusty grabbed Norah as I was getting the pillows from the bed and then the sirens stopped. We settled down, sat back in bed, and waited for the storm to pass. Norah slept in our room last night because I am mildly crazy and would not have been able to sleep if she had been all the way across the house, just in case another storm came in the night and knocked a tree onto her bedroom.
It was a dramatic half hour.
And just now, we are waiting out another storm, this one producing tornado warnings in the county south of us. While I'm not hiding in the bathroom closet (yet), that last clap of thunder was so loud it shook the pictures on my walls and nearly make me throw up my dinner.
Again I ask: Why do I live in Arkansas, so close to Tornado Alley, and not in some safe place like Montana?