Strange fact: I’m only nervous about tornadoes when it’s dark outside. I’m convinced for some reason that if I can see a tornado coming, there’s no problem. Immaterial since no twister touched down this evening, at least none of which I’m aware.
I say yay though, because I was too busy last night to finish reading The Man Who Folded Himself, and tonight it seemed like the best use of my time on the floor of the shower. The ending, if you already know it, is as anticlimactic as the second viewing of Fight Club, but on the whole it was a great experience. Not as moving as my periodic re-reading of The Bridge to Terabithia, but since that was the book that introduced me as a child to reading for meaning rather than simply entertainment, I doubt anything else ever will be.
If it’s processed and ready to check out when I go in tomorrow, I’m planning next to read Brasyl, otherwise I’ll probably check out again Love is a Mix Tape, a book that fell victim at the beginning of spring to my inability to limit myself to a quantity of books I can actually read. Or maybe Cryptonomicon. Trying to choose just one book is difficult, but I have to choose before I leave work tomorrow, since I’m imposing a strict one-book-at-a-time policy on myself until we leave. There’s not much time left, I don’t want to leave a bunch of titles sitting around unread.
Right now, there are two towels laid down on the floor of our shower, and Seth and I are both sitting here in said shower. We’ve both got our laptops, and we’re listening to some really obnoxious radio. It seems a little ridiculous, but then, that’s what you do when there are tornado warnings and sirens going off and you have no basement.
I’m not too worried yet. It’s tornado season in Kansas, and I’ve lived here all my life. Now, if it starts to sound like we’re inthe path of an oncoming train, Seth has informed me I’ll crouch as flat in the shower as I can, and he’ll cover me. When he told me this, I told him that was silly, since I at least have hair to protect my head. He insisted though, although he did agree to at least grab a towel and put it over his head. Cause, you know, he’s bald and all.
You know, seeking shelter during tornados is never as much fun as it really ought to be. When I was in second grade, there was a really big tornado that hit Topeka (well, I thought it was really big. A fairly thorough google search indicates it wasn’t big enough to merit any lasting coverage that made it online, unlike, say, the really big one that hit Topeka in 1966) during the school day. We all sat out in the hall for what seemed like for-ever, but was probably only a couple of hours. My teacher read to us most of the time, but the only problem was that most of the kids in my class were on on one side of the door, and a few of us were on the the other. Yeah. We couldn’t really hear the latest in the story of the Boxcar kids.
Then, when I was an RA in college, there was a pretty significant tornado that came through SE Kansas. Pittsburg wasn’t really affected, but tons of towns all around were. Well, I was an RA in the basement, so everyone and their sister were down in my hall. I had the tv in my room tuned to the weather channel and turned up as far as it would go so everyone could hear. It was clear, though, from watching the radar, that we were never really in any danger, so I sat in my room (ooo - big windows!) and worked on the sock I was knitting at the time.
Well. Now it’s 11:00, and the tornado warning has expired. There’s still a tornado watch on until 4:00am, but I think we can probably leave the relative safety of the shower and move to our bed. I sort of want to make a dirty joke here about moving to our bed, but my mom reads this, and that would just make me uncomfortable. So, just forget I said anything, okay? Thanks. It can be our little secret.
I started reading The Man Who Folded Himself last night for the first time since high school. Unlike most things I enjoyed in my youth, it’s every bit as good as I remember, possibly even better.
The other thing that seems better: my graduating class. I found out Monday evening that my ten-year reunion is less than two weeks away. Under the circumstances I thought it prudent to find my year books and reacquaint myself with people’s names. As it turns out, there were far fewer jerks in my class than I remembered. In fact, as I looked at senior pictures, in several cases I remembered the specific incidents that caused me not to like one person or another, and laughed as I recalled I had actually been the instigator in most cases. I was the jerk then and it amuses me now, so I guess I still am.
Seriously though, I seem to recall not liking most of my classmates, but couldn’t find a single person in the yearbook I actively dislike now. I guess that’s potentially subject to change once we all meet up, but we’ll just have to wait to find that out for certain.
Leaving the country involves deciding what to take and what to leave behind. Experiences can’t be chosen either way, they stay here without us and keep happening. One of the things I’ll miss is LakeMary’s Special Olympics team. This weekend I’ve been on what will be my last Kansas Special Olympics trip for at least a year. It was a great tournament, and Bob and I managed to get a handful of pictures of the events. Some are up now, others are being uploaded as I type this, hopefully they’ll all be there by the time I press “Publish.”
I knew when I boarded the bus this would be it, but now that it’s done the finality has struck me. It’s not for good, but I’ll miss the guys a lot while we’re gone, and I’ll misses the coaches as well. The one time in person today seems somehow insufficient, so goodbye again you guys. Judy, Jeff, Bob, Lindy, Carolyn, former coaches like Tracy, Greg, Shawna, and anybody who has temporarily slipped my mind, thanks for the good times, the hard work at the tournaments, the Carlos O’Kelly’s after, and the sunflower seeds, bonfires, and shared beers in between. I love all of you, and I thank you in advance for all the times yet you’ll remind MB for me that he’s a punk.