I love storms. I can’t remember ever being afraid of them. My mother might be able to tell another tale, but she’s not here. I am.
So… I love storms. I’ve always loved storms. I took a meteorology class in college (during which I quietly fangirled about the professor being a local meteorologist I’d watched on TV for years), and one of my all-time favorite movies is Twister. (And in case you’re about to tell me what a shitty movie that is, save yourself some trouble because you’ll never change my mind!) I’d like to go storm chasing one day, so I can see a tornado in person.
From a distance. In broad daylight. Because I’m not suicidal.
But it turns out that storm touristing is actually rather pricey (several thousand dollars per person). I have a friend who has gone a few times, and she seems to think it’s worth it. I’d like to go with her, but I am more miserly. But maybe some day I’ll save up and go do it. Doing it with a tour group is probably more responsible than driving to Tornado Alley on my own. (Side note, that friend also wrote a great storm chaser romance.)
Anyway, nothing puts me to sleep faster than the sound of rain on the roof. I used to have a noise machine that would play rain and thunder sounds at night. At some point, it broke and I never got around to replacing it. These days, I wait for mother nature to make her presence known, but I greatly enjoy listening to a storm at night. Some of my most productive writing sessions have been during rain storms.
I do get nervous about severe weather, especially now that I have cats and live in a house where the only ground floor room with four internal walls is a tiny half bath. In a pinch, I think my husband and I could shelter in there, but the odds of getting all three cats in there with us are not great. I keep thinking I should get a weather radio, but haven’t pulled the trigger.
My father had a brush with a tornado a few years ago. It ripped right through the tiny town he lived in, knocking down power lines and disrupting phone (and cellular!) service. It took me days to get in touch with him afterward, and that was scary. A cinder block crashed through the roof of his apartment, and he had to vacate until the building could be repaired and inspected.
Fortunately, the closest I’ve ever come to a twister is one touching down a couple of miles from my house. That’s one of those things you don’t hear about until the next day and you’re like… holy crap, I am sooo lucky. But I’ve had hail pound dents into my car. (Like a good neighbor, State Farm was there.) My neighbor’s tree was struck by lightning last year.
Hopefully that’s not Mother Nature slowly zeroing in on me, because I just put a new roof on the house. Oh well. It’s under warranty.