Keeps raining all the time

I have a long history with storms.  Most of that history involves me at some level of hysteria with my face pressed against the window or standing in the driveway while I scan the sky for danger.  It turns out that neither of those are recommended storm-time activities according to meteorologists. 

I never really had good storm role models.  My French-Canadian grandmother (who had no less than 2 million rosaries) used to be my caregiver when I was fairly young and apparently quite impressionable.  If there was even a HINT of a storm on the horizon, I'd have to sit on the bed with my shoes on while she raced around the house lighting holy candles and throwing holy water on the windows.   I remember sitting on that chenille covered bed with wide eyes while she'd go clattering by with a handful of rosary, matches, and vial of holy water.  We always made it through every storm that she deemed tragic (which was all of them) so apparently the rosary-candle-holy water trick must have worked.

Cut to my tween years....I am now completely PHOBIC about storms.  Even a vaguely blue-grey cloud has me edgy.  I remember being at a picnic at my aunt's home and standing slack jawed in the front yard as a funnel cloud went zooming merrily by in the distance.  For some reason, we were all considered safe because my uncle was CHIEF OF POLICE.  I'm not sure how that ranks up there with holy water and rosaries, but everyone stood in the front yard and watched the funnel's cameo appearance during the storm like it was no big deal.  I hot footed it for the house like the lily livered coward that my grandmother had trained me to be convinced I could save them all if I could just find the holy water and rosaries.

As a teen, the phobia drifted understandably to downright horror and hysteria after one particular storm when my dad decided to take action.  He was a volunteer firefighter and we had a radio called THE PLECTRON.  It screamed wildly whenever there was a fire, ambulance call, tornado or some other local disaster.  One afternoon the PLECTRON went off signaling the approach of a tornado.  I was already trying to ward of hysteria by playing solitaire and was madly flipping playing cards on the family room floor.   Dad came rocketing into the room instructing everyone to "Get into the car!  We're going to run right angles to the storm!!" and he rocketed out the back door.    My mother was NOT down with this idea.  My brother thought it was cool (he's an idiot)...and I was, of course, hysterical and by this point, weeping.  So we all pile into the car with me dragging our reluctant Shetland Sheepdog, Duffy, who is panting wildly and dad starts driving.  It becomes quickly apparent that there is no way to tell what exactly IS a right angle to the storm.  So I think he just drove around for a while until the dog and I were both so out of our minds that NO ONE could take it anymore and we went home...safe and sound.

When I got older, I got bolder...for some reason I thought that storm warning translated to "go stand in the driveway and look at the sky".  It turns out that this is apparently what happens as you age since the entire neighborhood would meet me out there and we'd stand in our driveways until the hail drove us into our houses or one of us was struck by lightening.  One night, I went outside with my dinner plate and made it a little party.  My husband drew the line at that and sent me back into the house where I sat on the sofa and sulked while watching the crawl on the bottom of the television while spooning hot casserole into my face.

I think I may have overcome my fear of storms since I've moved to southern Indiana.  Only because they have one EVERY ten minutes.  I'm not kidding.  You know how when someone is afraid of something you expose them to it until they aren't afraid of it anymore?  That's what they do down here.  Constant storm bombardment until you are SO jaded about storms that you become quite flippant.   "Oh.  Another tornado warning...that's the 57th one today." And right after that you pound the weather radio flat.  Last night there were very severe storms (they always sneak in when it's dark...bastards) and my husband wasn't home.  He told me how to turn on the weather radio which is very cleverly affixed to the head of our bed.  After about the 40th time the thing screamed in my ear about floods, tornados, damaging winds, hail the size of human heads, blah blah blah, I finally turned it off.  I figured...I could either be wide awake and terrified when the storm killed me or sleep blissfully when it came through and sucked me into it's cow riddled vortex.  I picked sleep.  It worked for Dorothy.

Oh...and check out the thing about the cows...you know this is all their fault...they pass gas and the methane is ruining the atmosphere...go ahead...Google it.  I'll be out in the driveway watching the sky.