Okay, Yankees, when the sky turns as dark and ugly GREEN as it did at 2:30 this afternoon, that means you’ve got yourself a tornado somewhere VERY. CLOSE. BY. This means get in the cellar, fool, ‘fore you get sucked up like Helen Hunt’s daddy in that Twister movie.
But the sirens didn’t even sound today. Meanwhile, just a block away, the mayhem you see in the pictures above happened; one of the beautiful, tall and stately pine trees toppled over during the swirling green blowby. Fortunately, somebody with sense at the UM libraries herded everybody including Frank into the basement for awhile, so he was okay.
Now, I’m sorry to be such a Nervous Nellie. But my Okie heritage … well, it’s just hardwired in my genes.
I remember the aftermath of the tornado that hit Duncan 22-Feb-75, killing a woman. Some cousins were living in a trailer house temporarily next door to my great-aunt’s house. The twister hit and they barely escaped as the trailer whirled into the air … only to be beaten to a pulp by hail as they hightailed it for my great-aunt’s cellar. We saw them the next day; they looked like they had been beaten with two-by-fours.
Still, Michigan storms seem to be pretty dang benign by Okie standards, so I’m not diving into the hole yet. I’m actually greatly enjoying the show. For the last seven years in San Francisco, the most exciting weather feature was, well, nothing really. This is more like home.
And yes, the Beagle slept through this afternoon’s storm (and the one going on right now too). With the sky so dark and green, I strongly requested that he come downstairs with me, poised to hit the basement. He woke up briefly, gave me an extremely dirty look as if to say, ‘This ain’t no storm. Why, in Texas, it’d just be a lil’ ol’ rain shower, son! Chill out …’