Sweet

My little brother (a loosely used term since he is only a year and a half younger than I am and we are both old) called me tonight. We rarely talk on the phone. We are not a chatty family. If we know the others are fine, we're fine. When one calls, worry ensues immediately because why else would they call?

It turned out that he called because he was watching the weather on t.v. and was worried that I did not know about the looming thunderstorm. Ha. I should be so nonchalant about the weather. I am not. I am paranoid and I live in tornado country.

Years ago I procured a weather radio which informs me of impending doom or possibly-sort-of-maybe impending doom. Sometimes the radio is just annoying as hell. It had already told me that the storm would hit me at 6:15 p.m and I had a couple of different radar screens in different tabs up on my computer (how can radar differ so much?). I knew I was in for it.

It was sweet of him to worry. I asked if he wanted me to call him back after I survived the 60 mph winds that were sure to hit. He told me it wasn't necessary, he would see it on the news. Sweet.

The red eye of the storm was aimed right at me and then.... it went somewhere else. There was a short burst of not 60 mph wind and a little rain and then it was quiet again. It is always a little disappointing when the radio and radar get you all stirred up for a big disaster and all you get is a little fart.

Here is the radar after the fart:

Weather map, I am at the X

I went outside and here was the view to the terrible northeast:

Deep blue sky to the north and east.

And here is the inevitable rainbow:

Rainbow to the south and east

Sweet.