I still miss summers in the Midwest — going to the State Fair, swimming, hearing stories of my mother’s childhood, playing endless games of basketball or hiking in the woods with cousins. I loved watching my Grandmother cook (trying to take notes on her special chocolate cake recipe so Mom would know), and then eating fresh corn on the cob, beefsteak tomatoes on black angus burgers, and 3-bean salad while sitting in the sun room.
But, summertime memories from my childhood also include huddling, hours at a time, in grandmother’s canning room or the bathroom in the basement, waiting for the wind from a tornado to pass by like an out of control train. My parents would try to get reception on the transistor radio to see when to dash to move Uncle further downstairs in his wheelchair. Once the all clear came, we’d breathe again. Then we’d wait a while before walking upstairs and outdoors to see if there was damage to the house, the trees, the neighbors’ roofs. As children, we’d tell each other how to know if the eye had passed over us if you were outdoors and didn’t notice you were in the middle of a giant funnel. I don’t miss that moment when you suddenly can’t think because you think the storm is about to hit, but you’re not allowed to look and see. I’m just grateful there’s more warning time now.
My heart is in my throat as I think about the people of Oklahoma, as they deal with their shock and grief.
