Stormy Weather

Life is most definitely a cabaret this time of year in Central Georgia.  Our late afternoon thunderstorms move through the pines and the rain comes in buckets.  I like the rolling thunder….I still don't like the loud crashes though.  I don't like lightening at all….it's not in my make-up.  I wish I could say, "I really enjoy a good thunderstorm."  However, that would be a big lie.

Bill's on the front porch right now-- he loves a thunderstorm.  We talked this afternoon about memories from our childhoods….he thinks of his parents and sisters….sitting on the porch….watching the rains come…warm memories….talking family talk.  His family would watch the rains and enjoy the storms together.

I have a different story.

My universal theme for thunderstorms revolves around one night that I spent at my Grandmother Malloy's home.   It was quite a storm… I was awakened with a splash of Holy Water right in the face.  My Aunt Fannie was running through the house, sprinkling all of us with holy water, and chanting, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us."  I have never been considered slow on the uptake.  I figured out at 5 years old that an retired adult who was trotting around a two story house in the middle of the night administering pseudo Last Rites to all of us probably knew more than I did.  My fear of storms took root that night.

When I went to 4-H over night camp in 7th grade, my mother wrote on my application that I was terrified of thunderstorms.  I was appalled at my short comings but I thought there should be a stronger word than terrified….I needed my own "thunder shirt"-- My plan:  If there was a thunderstorm I would go to the lodge.  Someone would have had to come and get me.  Thankfully, I did not have to resort to Plan B.

I have vivid memories of going on a girl scout camp out….ANOTHER Big Thunderstorm!  The leader said, "Don't touch the tent, it will make it leak."  She didn't have to worry about me touching the tent….I was flat to the ground like a piece of sod.  I can't recall crying, but I do think my skill in math can be directly related to saying the multiplication facts over and over in my head waiting for the storms to be over.  (Look, as a professional, I know it's a little bit on the spectrum but it works!)

So, the moral of this cautionary tale is:

We all bring different things to the table.  Our experiences make us who we are-- for better for worse-- we are the sum of our experiences.  Bill, he'll be watching the clouds and thinking good thoughts.  Me?    Pawley and I will be sitting together on the sofa and I'll be quietly reciting multiplication facts in my big dog's ear.