I’ve always counted myself as pretty brave when it comes to spring thunderstorms and Mother Nature’s fury. After all, I’ve lived in Georgia my entire life, and if you aren’t used to thunderstorms after living in Georgia for 28 years, then you’re not going to get used to them. When Jeremy first moved here from California, he’d get
extremely incredibly pretty damn nervous when it would storm (although he probably wouldn’t appreciate me telling you so). Up in Jefferson State, where he’s from, thunderstorms were something of a rarity, and I suppose even when they did occur, they weren’t quite as volatile as a Southern storm can be.
During our first year together, his mother and sisters would call often after hearing about “bad weather” down South. I think they got more or less used to it after a while, but they still worried over him being swept up and blown away in a tornado for some time. Jeremy seems to have gotten used to Southern weather as well, although he still hates the humidity (it’s not the heat; it’s the humidity…truer words). Now me, well, I’ve gone and regressed a little since getting married. Take last night for example. All day long last Friday the weather people, including Glenn Burns aka minor weather god, were predicting bad storms to start sometime past midnight. Per usual, their predictions were dead on, and the storms started as scheduled around 6:00pm.
Up until then, the wind had been blowing like crazy, and I was scrambling around trying to put up the two oak leaf hydrangea and the tiny Japanese maple that I’d bought at a plant sale earlier in the week and had still not planted, as well as making sure anything that could get ruined by wind or rain was safely tucked away inside the garage. Basically, I was battening down the hatches. The wind felt so good as I darted here and there trying to get everything done before the storm, which was obviously arriving earlier than predicted. Frankly, I think that all my chicken-with-my-head-cut-off energy was coming from a little bit of nervousness and, dare I say, fear of the encroaching storm. Jeremy hadn’t gotten home at this point, and I honestly was feeling a little scared in anticipation of facing a wicked storm while home alone.
I’m embarrassed to even admit that. I’ve always loved storms. Thunder and lightning, the sound of the wind blowing and the rain falling. But in my old age, I’ve apparently become a bit of a wimp, a scaredy-cat who literally cowered behind my husband that night when a huge clap of thunder alarmed me. Great, another fabulous thing about getting older. What happened to the fearlessness of youth? I remember my sister and I hiding in the laundry room of my parent’s house when I was a child, a tornado raged outside the door and all I remember feeling was excitement.
But I’m rambling. The storms last week turned out to be not so bad. And Jeremy got home just in time, so he could protect me as a man is wont to do. We were bad and ordered hot wings from our favorite wings’ joint…right in the middle of the storm. Don’t worry we tipped the delivery guy really well. So, we ate our hot wings and watched the DirectTV screen saver flash across our tv screen while we ate. The satellite eventually came back on, but it didn’t really need to. Sadly, I was probably too distracted by my new found fear of thunderstorms to even notice what was on, and hey, this is Georgia; it won’t be long before another thunderstorm rolls around, and when it does, you’ll almost certainly find me, battening down any hatches, cowering behind my strong, fearless husband, and hiding under the bed with my three cats.