A storm of thought

When I was a kid, thunderstorms terrified me. In fact, I think they scared all the Olson kids. Well, maybe not Scott, but Craig and I were complete wimps. I can remember yelling out for my mom and dad as I laid in bed under the window, watching the lightning and seeing the giant maple tree over our house sway back and forth. When the skies were especially menacing, Craig would gather up the flashlight and maybe a blanket and sort of hover near the basement stairs. Even though I wanted to look tougher than he was, I'll admit I wouldn't stray to far from a quick escape to the safety of the basement.

Tornadoes, especially, were these incredibly scary things, and they still are. I've never seen one, but I've been caught at the mall in Sioux City, the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, and in the middle of class at UNL. Its the same drill every time, the sirens go off, you search for cover. But, nothing truly devastating ever happened. A funnel cloud would touch down out in a field or skirt along the riverbank. It would never take out an entire town. That town in Kansas is gone. Completely gone.

We don't usually have thunderstorms in Portland. Last week, we had a couple of days of crazy weather. Showers and sun breaks is what the forecasters would call it, but hail and then blinding sunshine is what I would call it. During one particular rain spell, it thundered three times--pretty loud, solid cracks of thunder--with three bright flashes of lightning. We were all gathered in my boss' office watching out his window. When I hear thunder, I immediately think of home. I think of driving down the highway and seeing big thunderheads rolling across the horizon. I think of the color the sky gets right before that last crack of thunder that unleashes the rain. I think of my family and the warm dry basement.