Another broken promise of snowstorms

Once again, the major snowstorm misses us.

We were expecting 8-12 inches here in the far northwest corner of Missouri, but now we’ve been downgraded to 6-10 inches, and I personally doubt we’ll even get 6. My bet is on 5 inches, not more than a normal storm would drop.

I love snowstorms, much as I like thunderstorms. This might be privilege on my part, because I can stay at home and teach if the weather gets bad out. As a child, I had privilege. I remember my dad driving 30 miles home in the snow and my mother starting to worry half an hour before he was supposed to get home. He had little choice, unless the snow was so bad in the morning that the roads were closed.

When the snow gets bad enough on the interstate in Wyoming, the Department of Transportation literally closes the interstate with gates and locks at the ramps. I remember driving on a ramp to I-80 just as they were unlocking the gate, car stopped behind several 18-wheelers, waiting to get through. I drove slowly on that road and arrived home 10 hours later.

So I love snowstorms even though I don’t think I should. I like buying supplies as if we’re going to spend a week marooned in the house (and with COVID, I don’t even know why isolation is something I relish). I enjoy looking out the window and seeing only white, and hearing the muffled sounds of a snow plow. I hope we get a snowstorm like that today.

Stormy with a chance of cleansing

Out the window, the sky is slate-grey and now and then lightning flashes. Thunder rumbles, further away now, but still audible. The rain picks up, then subsides.

I could sit with this all day. I have a passion for summer thunderstorms, feeling their cleansing rain and wind. I need cleansing, given my dour thoughts and ennui. Maybe this can be my spa experience, sitting and writing as the clouds stalk across the sky.

Wishing for a Thunderstorm

I was hoping for a thunderstorm today.

I love thunderstorms, with their gushing rain and big booming thunder. If I weren’t so aware of my mortality, I would stand in the thunderstorm and scream with the lightning.

Thunderstorms are cathartic, clearing the air of heat and dust, clearing my mind of stagnation. Changing the topic from waiting to doing.

The color of the dewy grass after the storm cheers my heart. It makes me feel like rebirth is possible.

I will have to wait till tomorrow, apparently, and even then the forecast might be gentle rain or misty drizzle. I’ll accept those, even knowing I will miss the more dramatic storm.

More Rain

I am blessed, sitting in a small, knotty pine cabin in front of a fireplace while the thunder booms outside. What a delicious writing retreat. Oh, and there’s coffee.

If I could do this every day, it wouldn’t be a retreat, would it? No, this is special time. This is a change of scenery that hopefully will let me see my writing develop. The goal for today is to finish the massive rewrite of the first third of the book. That’s no more than 3000 words in my estimation, but it’s a thoughtful three k.

Time for me to quit staring at the fire and start writing.

Rain

I sit in my favorite Maryville coffeehouse, the Board Game Cafe, and watch the rain outside.

I love rain. I love gloomy skies and the hiss of car tires on the pavement. I love gentle rain misting the garden. I love watching gullywashers as the torrent of raindrops sheet across the street. I love the patter of the raindrops on the metal garage roof and the boom of the thunderclaps. I love the feeling of resignation I get when I’m so drenched there’s no use in dodging the raindrops anymore and I love the warmth of the indoors.

Rain reminds us that we don’t have total control of our lives, and that’s a welcome realization to me. We plan, and then we miss something, like what to do when the picnic is rained out, or whether we packed an umbrella in the car. Not only do we not have to be perfect, but we can’t be perfect, because we can’t predict everything.

Like, for example, the rain.

Thunderstorms

It’s six-fifteen in the morning and it still looks like night. We are in the midst of thunderstorms, although I think we’re between fronts right now.

I grew up listening to thunderstorms at night, convinced it was my duty to wake up the family if the house got hit by lightning. I love thunderstorms despite a childhood short of sleep; they became my confidante late at night.

Today I wait for the rumbles of thunder as the glowering clouds travel closer, the swishing of the trees, the gouts of rain. I fancy myself a witch of the storm, holding my arms skyward, drenched by an onslaught of rain. In reality, I’m afraid enough of lightning that I would not do something that foolish.

North of us, the roads are still flooded by a freakish mix of melting snow from the Dakotas and hard rain. South and east of us, there’s a chance of severe weather, which includes hail, high winds, and tornadoes. Lightning strikes kill people every year.

Thunderstorms command respect. Even as I enjoy them, I keep them at a distance.