Big Wind

Sometimes sensible advice is too silly to follow

I don’t usually post at night, because I get up before the chickens. Early morning is my writing time. (Yes, I’m still writing the book. No, it’s not finished. Yes, we’ve notified Amazon, but you can’t tell them anything.) But anyway, the entire state is crazily covered with intense thunderstorms and tornado warnings, and since our bedroom is beautifully located under many large trees, we are not asleep. I am watching local tv, which I rarely do, but it’s what my husband calls “weather porn”, i.e., nothing but weather coverage from every local station, with clusters of brightly colored radar maps, most of which are so complex as to be indecipherable. If I may presume to offer advice to the local stations, simpler is clearer.

One of the benefits of living close to Lake Michigan is that its cool air acts as a mitigating factor, and storms often either disperse, or miss us completely. In the winter it drives me crazy when north and south of us get tons of snow dumped upon them while we get a dusting. But at this time of year, I am perfectly happy not to have to worry about severe storms. Eli would be happy, too, if he thought of it. He runs into the house if he hears a fly buzzing. Not kidding. But, to be fair, they bite.

During a tornado warning earlier, the meteorologists were offering advice for how to protect yourself from tornadoes, which, for the first time to my knowledge, included wearing a bicycle helmet while sitting on a couch in your basement watching television weather coverage. This is sound advice, I know. But as I tried to suggest it to my husband, I got the giggles, and I knew before I even pulled the bicycle helmets from the hall closet, there was no chance whatever that he would follow this perfectly earnest counsel. “You won’t be laughing when your skull is crushed like a melon,” I warned. But since I was laughing, I don’t think my message was delivered with any particular efficacy. And then, being me, I started wondering whether there are helmets for dogs, and why we don’t have any.

I have filled the bathtubs, put on sensible shoes, left the flashlights and candles accessible, and put the dogs’ leashes on the kitchen counter. I have also texted friends in the path of the storms, because I worry. So far, everyone is okay.

Since the storms raging all around us have not yet even created an audible thunder clap, I am sitting in my usual writing chair next to a picture window, conveniently located within arms’ reach of the bar cart and a stash of Italian chocolate my youngest son and daughter-in-law sent for Mothers’ Day.

But the bicycle helmets are close at hand. Because, sometimes, being ridiculous is irrelevant.