Seis de Mayo has seemed to come in wet and thunderous, and subsequently got out hot and humid.
What’s the deal with that?
Generally I don’t have a problem with thunderstorms. The reason for that is because I grew up in Wyoming where I have no conscious memory of being caught up in one powerful enough to entrench itself into my skull as part of either a good or bad memory.
In fact, the only time I can remember it raining with any real consistency out there in the great plains was usually on Mother’s Day when the kids start playing baseball. Here in Texas and generally nationwide, the Little League season usually starts in mid-March. The league I participated in up there couldn’t start baseball that early because there was usually still snow on the ground or it was just to cold.
Back to the rain.
For whatever reason, I like to sit and watch it if it’s really coming down. The effects of the gamma radiation subside and I become calm just watching it.
Wifey is a different story, and generally hates it. There was an event in her past where she was caught up in a nasty storm while sitting in a travel trailer.
As for Faith, the TharpSter TreadMill, she hates it. She generally tries to find the tightest little corner to hide from the noise. As a result, laundry baskets get dumped over, shampoo bottles get knocked off the side of the tub, and on at least one occasion, the seal between the tank and the bowl on the toilet gets misadjusted from her trying to hide under the thing.
Did I mention that I don’t mind thunderstorms? I generally don’t.
Did I mention that I don’t mind loud-ass cracks of lightening and thunder which jolt me from a deep REM state where the recesses of my subconscious has put me in a world free of roving mariachis and beanless nachos?
Yeah I know I didn’t, because I do mind those things.
I do mind the fact that cracks of thunder and lightning go off at 3:30 in the morning and my legs start running before my brain can engage and tell them to stop.
I do mind the fact that Faith jumps in bed and cuddles close enough to become my conjoined twin when the thunder and lightning work their magic on the contents of her little skull.
I do mind the fact that Faith is usually shaking so hard that my bed becomes it’s own shiatsu massager, yet not the good kind.
Pardon me for being grumpy, but those little worlds generated in my dreams where the life of an innocent bean is not sacrificed for the benefit of my palate or anyone else’s are quite enjoyable.
The way I see it, one of two things need to happen.
- Beans and roving mariachis go away.
- Thunderstorms need to be rescheduled to take place in the waking hours when I can enjoy them for all of their splendor.
Who do I talk to about that?
