Ch. 153; Vol. 10
“Tim Samaras died.”
I didn’t know who they meant at first. Carrie and Rose were stretched out in the living room with laptops and iPads, just hearing the news. Their favorite storm chaser was gone. In the El Reno tornado.
“I can’t believe it,” they kept saying. “How? He was the most cautious and intelligent of the chasers, too.”
Joe texted his sadness while the girls speculated on who was responsible for his death – maybe by all the motorists jamming the highways during the advent of the twister. Rose added her opinion from the laundry room…
“There goes science!”
But nothing could be done about it. So Carrie showed me some funny videos of goofy reactions to anesthetic before she mixed up cherries jubilee for dessert. And Puck skated through the house attaching ropes and hooks around his waist to the basement door. And other Puck-things.
I caught him preparing a hot cocoa at church this morning, running around with his two church buddies – one wore a tie with shorts, and the other toted a Build-A-Bear monkey with almost eight teeth missing. The boy. Not the monkey.
On the drive to church, we passed a patch of grass and trees where two houses had once stood. Puck wanted to know why they tore down the properties…
“I guess they wanted to build something else.”
“Well, they never got to, I appear to see.”
Which somehow ended up with The Bear and Puck discussing camping during the summer and bear attacks. The conversation rocked back and forth as Puck tried to wrap his head around the idea of this…
“Well, there is one more point, Dad. The bears might think we’re made of meat. Yuck. I don’t want to get bit by a bear. Bears have very good smell, Dad.”
But anyway, back at the house, everyone was home for lunch, including Joe and Jaya. Rotisserie chickens, deli sandwiches, pickles. Puck picked at his hoagie. Lately he’s been interested in the idea of sesame seeds. He can’t quite figure them out…
“Are these bread seeds?”
– He asked it like he already knew the answer. –
“Grandma, I think you should grow bread in your garden this year.”
Sometimes I think I’ve failed just a little. Anyway, conversation bled into that one time last summer when Dad and the boys took down that dead tree in the backyard…
“You could see the evolution of our attempts to take it down,” said Carrie. “First we tried string and yarn and stuff. And that didn’t do any good. Then curly ribbon. And that really didn’t work. And then the rope…”
“And then it almost fell over on the house,” Francis added.
“After we tried to pull it down with the van.”
“Yeah, the Bosnians were probably watching from their backyard… ‘Americans.’”
Puck found the Andes mints. Well, Lydia did. And then I did. But they were there, is the point, and Puck heard rumors that they weren’t going to be made anymore…
“Could I have one, Mom? Before they go out of business?”
Carrie was a little annoyed that Rose and some others didn’t want to join her at the bunny expo in the city that afternoon. But Dad made the decision for everyone, anyway. Something about…
“You all always want to do these ridiculous things that Collette comes up with.”
And then I was accused of wanting to visit a horseradish festival. Which. Kill me if I ever wanted something that absurd. Still, Joe and Jaya decided to play tennis instead.
But then the van’s battery died. And by the time they realized jumping it wasn’t going to work, it was too late to drive to the expo. But there was time for A&W. And tornado damage.
The kids broke it down as we passed house after house, roofs covered in blue and black tarps…
22 mile path.
F3.
Just skipped a neighborhood over. It was that close. No deaths, no real injuries. If I’ve learned anything about severe weather in St. Louis, it’s that people generally take it pretty seriously. They get off the roads. They find shelter. Of course Carrie and Rose were watching it all happen just as the whole thing began to drop, and got home just in time. But generally. We play it safe.
So A&W – root beer and chili cheese fries – while we watched planes take off at the Cell Phone Lot. The nine of us, like a tour bus. The pavement rumbling. Sort of thrilling.
And Puck imitated tornado sirens on the ride back.
Exploded the baking-soda-vinegar volcano.
We get our quota in.
