Weather Vane * October 19, 2007

Hail,

    In a single breath of time and space each member of our family was exposed—stripped bare—for what we truly are.  There was the hero, the screamer, the general, the George Kastanza, the fool, and now we’ll have to live with that knowledge for at least a month or so . . . or until the next microburst.

    We are porch people.  On any given weekend our family spends a fair hunk of time sitting on porches, moving from one porch to another, or talking about moving from one porch to another.  It’s a lifestyle, and according to all my liberal college professors you have to respect our lifestyle.

    During a recent porch sitting experience, we watched as one of those typical Florida late afternoon thunder storms rolled in from Lake Toho, across the cow pasture, right past the barn, to shake the  big oak tree in the backyard.  Our conversation was typical.

    “Here it comes.”

    “Yep.”

    Lightning slashed at the sky.  Thunder smacked the molecules around our heads.

    I sighed with happiness that I was not living in some other state where the rain pops up like mildew and is as persistent.  I said,  “Gosh, I love the semi-tropics.  Don’t you love how heavy the air gets right before the storm breaks, and then it gets so . . .”  I know I had something else to say—something poetic and wise.  I just can’t remember what it was, because just as I paused to drag sufficient breath into my lungs to make it through the rest of my poetic, wise, and windy commentary the scene outside our back porch began to resemble the insides of a blender.  The oak tree bent in half.  The wind screamed curse words.  The air turned the color of old asphalt.  Someone screamed.

    The crack of something thick and huge, fracturing into small chunks, punctuated our porch sitting paralysis.

    I stood up, grabbed our granddaughter Emma like a football under one arm, and ordered, “Run!!”  They did.  But each in his own way.

    Sherwood scooped up his beloved can of Pepsi—not spilling a drop.

    Jose snatched up Zoe and Conner before bolting for safety.  Zoe yelled.  Conner laughed.

    Phillip tried to shove Jose out of the way as he clawed his way through the door to pass the brother-in-law who was attempting to save his children.

    Maren, Heather, and Sarah screamed, shrieked, and squealed as they fought each other for the security of something a little more solid than porch screens between themselves and the blender frappe outside.

    Adam wanted to know, “Do you think this  is a tornado?”  We ignored him as we ran away from the possible tornado.

    Once inside, the adrenalin rush gave way to nervous laughter and a hilarious re-telling of our near miss adventure with the possible tornado.  Some of us looked sheepish.  Some of us looked more confident.  One of us cracked open a new Pepsi.  Needing reassurance Zoe asked, “It’s just a big wind, right Ya-Ya?”  We reassured her.

    And then someone said, “Hey, the rain has stopped.  Last one to the porch is George Kastanza in the Seinfeld episode where he knocks down the kids and the little old lady to be the first one to escape a possible fire.”  Everyone laughed as we headed back to the porch, and that’s where you’ll find us to this very day.

    Linda (Storm Racer) Zern

       

       

  

Powered by CityMax.com