Stone Cold Destruction Comes to Backroads

Tuesday afternoon, I was happily typing away on New Delly in my dark basement lair, 30 oz of Diet Coke still at my side, when my screen locked up. I hate it when that happens. Sometimes I need to open a new browser. Sometimes I need to restart. Now and then, there's a downpour that interferes with the satellite dish that feeds me my connection. On rare occasions, there's an issue with the modem, and I have to do some tried-and-true rituals to get my innernets back.

Since I was perfectly comfortable in my lair, with everything I needed (magical elixir, NASCAR bathroom) close by...I saw no need to ascend the 13 stairs to look outside. Nor did I have any inclination to leave my lair, make a right at the mini fridge, another right at the pool table, traipse through Hick's workshop, and wrestle open the spring-bar deadbolt on the basement door to look out back. Nope. I picked up my phone (which works better in the basement than in the living room) and texted Hick.

"Is it raining? Do you know why my internet would be down?"

"Yes it's storming lots of warnings"

Huh. The people in Hawaii can get FAKE warnings to take cover due to nuclear war, but I can't get a thunderstorm warning? I guess us flyover people can just be left unawares, to perish. Except for Hick. Who may or may not possibly be a spy, for all we know, what with his world travels due to "work." At least we dodged the Chinese space station when the sky was falling on Easter Sunday. I bet the people in Tahiti bent over to kiss their butts goodbye. IF they got a warning...

Anyhoo...I'd no sooner gotten that text back from Hick than I heard a tremendous pounding noise from above. Pieces of that Chinese space station wouldn't have sounded so menacing. I figured that we were getting some hail, which would explain my internet outage, and that my service would probably return within an hour or two.

As luck and Even Steven would have it, I was reconnected to the world within 15 minutes. And also with Hick. Who came down to my lair to show me pictures on his phone. I don't know why he didn't just sent them to me. Or bring me the authentic items in the pictures.

Yes. We got some hail. It was scattered throughout the yard. Hick picked some up.

Hick's hand is not really misshapen. It's the angle, I think. But the picture does illustrate the magnitude of those hailstones. Lucky for us, our metal roof was not damaged, A-Cad and T-Hoe were safely ensconced in the garage, the Gator was under the carport, Hick's 1980 Olds Toronado was inside his new Freight Container Garage, and Hick was at the car repair shop checking on his Ford F250, while driving his Trailblazer. They didn't get hail there.

"I was just telling my buddy that you'd sent me a text. He said there were warnings for 60 mile an hour wind, and hail, up at the state park. And he said, 'Your house is right in line with the state park, isn't it?'"

Looks like everybody knew about the weather but me. Let a kid be kidnapped, and I'm scared out of my skin by an Amber Alert coming in on my phone. Odds are slim that I would encounter the little Amber. I do, however, exist in mostly harmony with the elements. Weather is all around me, 24/7/365. But weather warnings shun me. I never set up my phone to get either of those kinds of bulletins, yet I get one, but not the other.

So far we haven't found anything dented or destroyed, but a metal table blew across the porch. I guess I was safe enough, being in my subterranean lair during the storm.