If you have read my older post, then you know, that the Old Salt spent forty years living in southern California. Moving to the Midwest was a great change for him in many ways, but none more so than the weather. Today is one of those days that have him watching the skies with his weather band radio strapped to his hip.
According to that radio we have a twenty percent chance of rain today. But, as I begin this missive the sky is black as night, and the sounds coming from the heavens are worse than standing in the middle of Lucky Strike Lanes during men’s league night. Occasionally a lightening flash will join the thunderclap and the entire house will momentarily be center stage at a 70’s Kiss concert.
While having lunch a short time ago, I spent about ten minutes watching water rushing over our gutters and falling down our sloping driveway into the mini river making its way to the storm drain down the block. I watched the rows of giant raindrops bouncing in the street like rockettes doing a can-can number.
Our cats, Velvet and Boo, came rushing back through their door to the safety of the office sofa, just as the wind sent the deck umbrella flying onto its side, taking the table with it in a thunderous crash.
So much for the twenty percent chance of rain today, I can feel my hubby’s heightened senses telling me he would feel better if we moved to the basement family room where we could quickly be locked into the safety of the windowless bathroom should this become the first tornado of the season.