We've had a tumultuous past couple'a days here at the Crofton Bloghouse. Heck, the whole right hand side of America has. Tornados have been springing up hourly like hell on earth and devastating towns and communities.
The 'actual' south has gotten the business end of most all the activity. But yesterday Crofton was in the path, too. I had just run home in the rain from my son's Lacrosse practice and turned on the TV when the weather people started informing me that I may want to inventory any items in my backyard that were susceptible to flight. The patio umbrella immediately came indoors. I could visualize that as a possible suburban missile.
The TV then told me to locate people who I knew and cared for that might be driving or 'out and about'. Bryant = poker = staying put, Yenny = MIA + possibly at work. I actually *called her (that's when you use the PHONE functionality of your phone) something I rarely do with Yenny.
Out of curiosity at the unique approach, she answered.
"Hi. Where are you? The TV told me to find you and be accounted for."
"Where are you? Are you at work? Are you with the Hysan's?"
"Oh for christ's sake Yenny tell me your location!" (so frustrating trying to save people)
"I'm upstairs in my room."
"Oh." [awkward pause] "Well, come downstairs to the basement for christ's sake. The TV has us taking cover. There is a tornado headed for the house. And stop being so quiet."
"Uhhh... <sigh> okay. I guess."
Thankfully when she got downstairs I had the full promotional support of three news stations and emergency noises and ticker tape safety advice lighting up the television. And the sky was starting to go green. I felt confident that I was totally unlike the boy/girl that cried wolf/tornado. Seamus waffled between dramatic fake crying at being witness to an emergency and asking for help on the iPad game he was playing.
"Are we going to die?? Is the house going to blow away? <3 seconds passes> What is this word? I need to find the magic potion and bring it to the castle. But I can't find the key to the treasure chest. This is hard."
He was leaning up against the wall of the guest room (weather bunker) with his outstretched legs crossed, looking like a college sophomore at the age of seven. Very nonchalant. Yenny was smiling as she texted replies to all my earlier attempts to locate her while standing directly in front of me (nobody liked jokey smurf and eventually they all got together and killed him). The dogs were hanging with me ... but only because I had packed my pockets full of cheese sticks. That was my canine emergency strategy. Hambone could survive the house blowing off it's foundation if I was unpealing a cheese stick in front of him. he has focus like that. Thor... well we may lose him. He's a 118lb wild-card.
Also during this time (while monitoring every electronic device I had - short of the iPad) I noticed an email that came in and almost distracted me TOTALLY from the storm outside my door. I remember laughing out loud at the audacity of it. Here it is below.
Uhhh... people were actually dying, ya know. Though I give them props for timeliness... I'm afraid you may want to start looking for a marketing & communications crisis response team. Like immediately. That was a wee bit insensitive. (But I did like that herringbone Sorel mud boot.) I'm conflicted.
What I was experiencing was Schadenfreude. Plain and simple.
I wrote Backcountry.com a sensitive note this afternoon. It went something like this:
"FU from Maryland. Take me off your distro list. (Yes this is a direct result of the promo-mailer.)"
I like to be clear.
All Backcountry idiosyncrasies aside - I wonder if I over reacted during the emergency. I don't like to be thought of as someone that over reacts during an emergency. I have my 9/11 reputation to hold up (I was a stone cold MASH surgeon that day.)
I only really reconsidered the earlier days events - because I synced my phone this morning and noticed that I had taken some photos of my dog while "taking cover in an interior basement room with few windows".
Hambone was seriously chill. He did not give one shit.
Let me caption his expressions for you.
Photo #1 - Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Photo #2 - Stop moving or I will kill you. Be better at your human pillow job. And while I am at it - enough with the camera phone action. You and I both know I can END your friendship with others with merely a strategically directed stream of urine. We know this. You know. mmmhmm. Stop moving. I am not going to give you the satisfaction of opening my eyes all the way. BE the pillow.
Photo #3 - Oh FU. What is the issue now? Why am I awake? Can that kid STILL not read? Hell, Thor can read at this point... and look at him ... he's dumb as a shovel.
Why was I not adopted by PJ O'Rourke? I'll bet his dog gets their own leather Buster chair from Restoration Hardware. At least people care to read the stuff he writes. Some even PAY for it. I'll bet he buys special cheese from Dean & Deluca for his dog.
Why must I live like this? You people make me feel 'common'.
Photo #4 - Just give me the cheese in your pocket. I have no understanding of why we are all huddled in the least popular room in the house. But this has grown tiresome.
I will bite you or run away. You pick.
pffft. (excuse me. that happens when I stretch.)