There's a fun song about Oklahoma; maybe you've heard it? It comes from a musical, Oklahoma! The odd high school theatre group will get adventurous and perform it every once in a while ... I'm not sure which one this is, but they did a pretty good job: "Oklahoma! Finale" The musical really doesn't have much to do with the state as a whole, at least not any more (although water rights were one of the first chapters we did in realtor school). No, it's the first line of the title song that I want to focus on here:
Oklahoma! Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain!
Yeah ... wind. Chicago's known as the Windy City, but I think they must just have a better PR department, because anyone who's ever been here during a spring storm would *never* argue that Rodgers and Hammerstein had it wrong. I blogged on 5 March about the fun shelter-opening-by-necessity episode. Last night was a whole different dog.
By 9:00 the twins were in bed, elder daughter was slung back on the sofa with the laptop, the spousal unit was watching telly, and I was parked here doing a bit of catch-up ... when what to my wondering eyes should appear (wrong season, I know, but hang with me here) but the NewsChannel4 4-Warn Desktop Weather widget with many counties lit up in a variety of colors. (The widget pops up a map of the state ... each county is lit up a different color based on the worst thing that's happening there, and there's a legend at the top of the map, plus there's a little crawl along the bottom of the screen that replicates the crawl at the bottom of the TV screen ... you can click on any county to find out what warnings are on and when they expire, plus there's a link to a live radar ... it's TOTALLY nifty ... for the uninitiated (including the short-timer and the non-resident), here's a map: Counties in Oklahoma ... that should help, although you have to scroll down a bit). We're in the far-ish north-northwest bit of Oklahoma County, so anything that floats into far eastern Canadian County is pretty well guaranteed to nail us unless it blows out first (which isn't likely). I was watching as Caddo County, Canadian County, and Grady County went from orange (severe thunderstorm warning) to red (tornado warning) pretty quickly. It seemed fairly certain that we were next, which was very odd to me, as Oklahoma County was gray (meaning nothing's going on for that county - no watches, warnings, or otherwise).
The children hear the storm outside, and the younger two head into our bedroom to watch its progress on TV with us. (Elder daughter can sleep through most anything ... she's her mum's girl, that one!) Midnight comes and goes, and with it no sign of anything awful in our neck of the woods; the twins fall asleep in our bed, so I take them upstairs and tuck them in. Within five minutes, I'm tucked up in my own bed and drifting off to sleep, with the sounds of thunderstorm filtering in from the night outside.
Then the sound outside changes ... and not in a nice way.
Mark is still watching one of the three local network affiliates (NBC, ABC, CBS ... I wouldn't have Fox on unless all the others were dead and gone), and the voices start getting excited about a downdraft and inflow around a hook-echo denoting a circulation (this is tornado talk, and the weather kids will *never* explain it on TV, but if you watch enough of it, you get the idea). This new happening is just south of Mercy Hospital, not far from Quail Springs Mall, just around Lake Hefner Parkway. Mark nudges me and says, "It's us now, it's us, isn't that us?" He hops up out of bed and starts slamming his limbs into clothing as I open my eyes and see the circulation graphics on the TV screen to the accompaniment of Gary England (and bless THAT man's heart ... what are we all going to do when he retires? Perish the thought) ... then the sirens begin, and we know this time it's real.
Really, REALLY real ... wake the children real ... decide what's important enough to grab and leave the rest real.
From the bottom of our staircase, I can shout to reach all three darlings in their bedrooms, which is what I do next. My inner drill sergeant awakens and makes herself known: "KYMBER! KIERAN! KENDALL! OUT OF BED, CLOTHES ON, DOWNSTAIRS, RIGHT NOW!"
The children have heard me shout them out of bed plenty of times, but usually it's because they'll be late for school; I've *never* done it in the middle of the night with the sirens sounding. To their very great credit, they are at the front door with shoes on and jackets in hand, ready to go to the shelter, in record time. I've grabbed a pillow and flashlight, my bag, a hoodie, the house keys, the garage door opener, and the keys to Thumper and Skarlet, and we all head down to the shelter (except Mark, who's gone upstairs to get the bag of cuddly toys that was packed "just in case" but left on Kendall's bed in her haste). It turns out that the Mustang was *almost* pulled up far enough, but it was a bit of a squeeze to get in ... get in we did, though, and it was our luck that the sirens stopped as Mark was getting down the steps (not that anybody noticed but him).
The children did brilliantly. There was no crying, there were no shrieks, there was no panic (at the disco or otherwise, ha) ... there was just our family, performing as needs must when you live on the Oklahoma prairie. We got out of the shelter soaked, because the wind was whipping the rain as we were getting into the shelter, so everyone changed into dry clothes and went wearily back to bed.
Meanwhile, back at the cool desktop weather widget, the same counties that lit up last night are lighting up again right now.
:::sigh:::
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
But Where Are The Flag-Draped Caskets?
FOUR THOUSAND
... and for what?
It's just not right. This isn't supposed to be happening. Weren't we told that we were going into Iraq because Saddam Hussein had WMD and wasn't afraid to use them? And wasn't it also that those WMD could obliterate the UK and big chunks of NATO nations within 45 minutes of their launch? And wasn't it also that Saddam Hussein and Iraq had very strong ties to al Qaeda and (gasp!!) Osama bin Laden? And weren't we going to be greeted as liberators? And weren't the Iraqis going to fling roses at us? And wasn't it all going to be over in five days or five weeks or five months? ... but no, not five years? ... and yet, there we still are. Operation Iraqi Liberation, indeed ... no wonder the name got changed from O.I.L., eh?
So let's use that last graphic this way:
LOL - The Bushies are out of their minds ... they can't honestly think anybody will believe this shit.
OMG - Colin Powell actually SAID that?!?! Good God, you can't mean that people are believing this shit?
WTF - Nobody slapped that freak non-Texan down before he uttered those sixteen words? And now he's actually sending troops to Iraq??!! I DON'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT!!
RIP, you brave sons and daughters of America
who swore your best to America
believing you were fighting to protect America
and found out too late you've been betrayed by America.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Big, Bigger, Bigots
So I've lived in Oklahoma my whole life ... 41 years, 1 month, 25 days, and counting. That might not seem long to you if you're one of my, erm, better-established friends, or it may seem an eternity to someone who's obviously stumbled across this blog TOTALLY by accident (go away, whippersnapper, we geezers have nothing for you - ha). Either way, it's all I've got, so WTF-ever, just deal.
Forty-one years in Oklahoma can be full of everything or devoid of anything, depending on the subject at hand and one's particular point of view. In my case, it's both, which is sometimes fun to try to describe; it's The Great There/Not-There ... let me (try to) explain. When I say it's "full of everything" ... that means good. I mean, *really* good. When I was a kid, we used to not be so watched-over; even now, people will stop and help you if you're pulled over to the side of the road with your hazard lights flashing; if you get caught short a nickel or a quarter or whatever in the convenience store, somebody behind you in line will offer up the difference and tell you not to worry about it when you begin with the round of profuse thanks and apologies. When I say it's "devoid of anything" ... that means bad. I mean, *really* bad. Don't get me wrong; we have traffic and pollution and drugs and crime and awful people who do mean things to others. However, pound for pound, we have more of the other bit than we have of this one.
And then I get up the other day and I'm snooting through the news, as is my wont, and I come across this story: Oklahoma Pol's Screed Vs. Gays Sparks Furor ... which made me wonder. I mean, *really* wonder. So then I went to watch the video myself ... I'm Listening ... which made me wonder even more.
I wonder why people are so eager and happy to believe someone when they *say* they're Christian without waiting for physical proof. There's a Mohandas Gandhi quote that I really like that says, "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ."
I wonder why people want to rant and rave about something being an abomination according to a cute old incomplete mythological anthology when they cherry-pick the bits they like and talk down the bits they don't. (Levitican law, anyone?) It's not just Old Testament stuff, either; there are plenty of bits in the New Testament that Xians roundly ignore:
>>> At the church I attend, some women lead a Bible study. What is the best way to tell them to shut up? We must not have women speaking in church when 1 Timothy 2:12 forbids them to do so. And does this also apply to the choir?
>>> Many of the women in our church wear jewelry. Since women are forbidden to wear jewelry (1 Peter 3:3) what is the best way to tell them they are going to hell?
>>> I want to obey 2 Thessalonians 1:26 and greet all the women at our church with a kiss. Why do I get strange looks from them when I do - especially from their husbands? What about French kissing? And should I also be kissing the husbands?
>>> Recently, I have asked several women in my church to marry me since it is permissible for a man to have many wives (1 Kings 11:3). Why do I continually get rejected? People at church are beginning to talk.
>>> There are many unbelievers where I work and because we are forbidden to associate with them (1 Corinthians 4:11), I am wondering how best to tell them to keep away from me. Would a sign on my desk do the job?
I wonder why people don't bother to think for themselves.
(NOTE: I don't mean any bashing by this post. Well, not really, except for as regards the hypocritical assholes who want us all to believe that they've better than the rest of us - they're not - and that they truly care whether any certain person is going to hell - they don' t - and that they'd love to help any certain person be saved - they wouldn't. Well, now I think about it, yeah, I do mean to bash. You people aren't any better than anybody else. Sugarcandy Mountain isn't really there, guys.)
Forty-one years in Oklahoma can be full of everything or devoid of anything, depending on the subject at hand and one's particular point of view. In my case, it's both, which is sometimes fun to try to describe; it's The Great There/Not-There ... let me (try to) explain. When I say it's "full of everything" ... that means good. I mean, *really* good. When I was a kid, we used to not be so watched-over; even now, people will stop and help you if you're pulled over to the side of the road with your hazard lights flashing; if you get caught short a nickel or a quarter or whatever in the convenience store, somebody behind you in line will offer up the difference and tell you not to worry about it when you begin with the round of profuse thanks and apologies. When I say it's "devoid of anything" ... that means bad. I mean, *really* bad. Don't get me wrong; we have traffic and pollution and drugs and crime and awful people who do mean things to others. However, pound for pound, we have more of the other bit than we have of this one.
And then I get up the other day and I'm snooting through the news, as is my wont, and I come across this story: Oklahoma Pol's Screed Vs. Gays Sparks Furor ... which made me wonder. I mean, *really* wonder. So then I went to watch the video myself ... I'm Listening ... which made me wonder even more.
I wonder why people are so eager and happy to believe someone when they *say* they're Christian without waiting for physical proof. There's a Mohandas Gandhi quote that I really like that says, "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ."
I wonder why people want to rant and rave about something being an abomination according to a cute old incomplete mythological anthology when they cherry-pick the bits they like and talk down the bits they don't. (Levitican law, anyone?) It's not just Old Testament stuff, either; there are plenty of bits in the New Testament that Xians roundly ignore:
>>> At the church I attend, some women lead a Bible study. What is the best way to tell them to shut up? We must not have women speaking in church when 1 Timothy 2:12 forbids them to do so. And does this also apply to the choir?
>>> Many of the women in our church wear jewelry. Since women are forbidden to wear jewelry (1 Peter 3:3) what is the best way to tell them they are going to hell?
>>> I want to obey 2 Thessalonians 1:26 and greet all the women at our church with a kiss. Why do I get strange looks from them when I do - especially from their husbands? What about French kissing? And should I also be kissing the husbands?
>>> Recently, I have asked several women in my church to marry me since it is permissible for a man to have many wives (1 Kings 11:3). Why do I continually get rejected? People at church are beginning to talk.
>>> There are many unbelievers where I work and because we are forbidden to associate with them (1 Corinthians 4:11), I am wondering how best to tell them to keep away from me. Would a sign on my desk do the job?
I wonder why people don't bother to think for themselves.
(NOTE: I don't mean any bashing by this post. Well, not really, except for as regards the hypocritical assholes who want us all to believe that they've better than the rest of us - they're not - and that they truly care whether any certain person is going to hell - they don' t - and that they'd love to help any certain person be saved - they wouldn't. Well, now I think about it, yeah, I do mean to bash. You people aren't any better than anybody else. Sugarcandy Mountain isn't really there, guys.)
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Trying to Avoid a Trip to Oz
If you're an Oklahoma resident (past or present), you'll understand.
If you aren't one yet but could wind up being one at some future point, take heed.
If you've never had the privilege of living here, and Fate never determines that you are sufficiently worthy (which is cool, we won't hold it against you ... not everyone can be Okie ... the world needs Texans too ... although no one is yet sure just why ... heh), then this will serve as a nice piece of light fluffy prose at which you can smile and nod and perhaps even chuckle a bit before promptly forgetting it as you turn your attention to the broader scheme of your own existence.
Anyhow, if you weren't here Sunday evening, then too bad for you ... you really missed a stellar time.
We begin, as always, with a bit of background.
Several years ago we installed an in-ground tornado shelter in the garage. (We looked at safe rooms too, but they cost at least 3x as much and required what promised to be some fairly major construction.) It's one of those one-piece molded jobs that you see at the fair, the kind that you just drive the car over. We put it near the garage door, because our house is L-shaped, with the short bit being the garage and the front door being in the angle, and it's easier to walk out the front door into the garage than it is to scamper through the whole house and go out through the laundry room. Trigger (the convertible Mustang) parks over the door to the shelter, although he's not supposed to be parked right on top of it. However, Trigger usually only gets pressed into service once or twice a year, spending the rest of the year with a flat battery and at least one matching tire. Whoever used him last didn't pull him up very far ... no big at the time, but GREAT BIG as it turned out later.
We hadn't yet "opened" the shelter for this year (i.e., sweeping out the assortment of insects that congregate there from the end of one tornado season to the beginning of the next). It's one of those things that's on your Round Tuit list, because hey, it's only 2 March and it's been really cold outside except for the completely gorgeous last two days (first warning sign ... warm air + cold front = warm air rises and cold air drops and winds up making a fun sideways cyclone sort of thing which eventually sits up on its end from the cloud and drops down toward the earth) ... and then the sirens start.
It's pitching down rain in buckets (with said rain whipping and twirling and blowing in every direction, natch), and Trigger was parked on top of the shelter. First I have to find the keychain (I have one boasting a key collection that puts most prison wardens to shame) and the garage door opener (because it should be on the damn hall table but things look a far sight different when my innards have turned to jelly because the sirens are sounding) ... click the door opener to open the door (but it doesn't work until the fourth go, causing me to be sure that I am going to die today) ... squeeze into the teensy little space between Trigger and Skarlet in the garage and try to get into Trigger without door-dinging Skarlet ... test the two Ford keys to see which one is Trigger's, which is difficult because my hands are shaking like anything ... turn the key one click ... put the Mustang in neutral ... shout at Mark (who has FINALLY got himself outside to help me) to push it toward the west wall so as to be able to access the shelter entry portal ... throw the Mustang in park (and ignore the stupid grindy noise because it won't matter at all that I've stripped the gearbox if we're all dead) ... open the shelter ... go down into the shelter and squish all the spiders and crickets and other squatters, and knock down as many fantastic examples of arachno-architecture as I can find so that the children don't fuss ... find the little bitty TV that we keep in the garage for just this kind of thing ... try to remember how to turn the damn thing on ... tune in Mike Morgan because Gary England has the night off ... prepare to herd everyone down ... sirens stop ... go back into the house, put down bag and flashlights and other necessary things that have been snatched up (passports, foreign currency, file of birth certificates and marriage licenses and property deeds and car titles and other stuff that really should be in a safe deposit box in a vault that will withstand this shit anyhow) ... the sirens start again ... curse a blue streak ... repeat above procedure.
It all sounds like a truly awful sitcom episode, doesn't it?!?! It was a dark and stormy night. Car is parked on top of garage-floor shelter. Car has dead battery and flat tire. Add three frightened children plus one near-panicked Oklahoma-born mum plus one English transplant who isn't afraid of this weather because damnit, he's English, and by-God, we survived the Blitz and we'll survive this (and never mind that he was born 27 years after the Blitz ended). Hilarity ensues.
I would have been laughing my ass off if not for the mortal danger of it all.
Epilogue: the temperature dropped like a rock all Sunday night, and Monday morning was dead cold with a very low wind-chill index. While I was in the kitchen getting breakfast for the twins and a cuppa for Mark (elder daughter K.C. had already hopped on the bus), there was snow blowing about. It's been chilly for the last two days. Kieran and Kendall have learned at school that "if March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a lamb" ... please, let Granny's old saying be true this time!!
If you aren't one yet but could wind up being one at some future point, take heed.
If you've never had the privilege of living here, and Fate never determines that you are sufficiently worthy (which is cool, we won't hold it against you ... not everyone can be Okie ... the world needs Texans too ... although no one is yet sure just why ... heh), then this will serve as a nice piece of light fluffy prose at which you can smile and nod and perhaps even chuckle a bit before promptly forgetting it as you turn your attention to the broader scheme of your own existence.
Anyhow, if you weren't here Sunday evening, then too bad for you ... you really missed a stellar time.
We begin, as always, with a bit of background.
Several years ago we installed an in-ground tornado shelter in the garage. (We looked at safe rooms too, but they cost at least 3x as much and required what promised to be some fairly major construction.) It's one of those one-piece molded jobs that you see at the fair, the kind that you just drive the car over. We put it near the garage door, because our house is L-shaped, with the short bit being the garage and the front door being in the angle, and it's easier to walk out the front door into the garage than it is to scamper through the whole house and go out through the laundry room. Trigger (the convertible Mustang) parks over the door to the shelter, although he's not supposed to be parked right on top of it. However, Trigger usually only gets pressed into service once or twice a year, spending the rest of the year with a flat battery and at least one matching tire. Whoever used him last didn't pull him up very far ... no big at the time, but GREAT BIG as it turned out later.
We hadn't yet "opened" the shelter for this year (i.e., sweeping out the assortment of insects that congregate there from the end of one tornado season to the beginning of the next). It's one of those things that's on your Round Tuit list, because hey, it's only 2 March and it's been really cold outside except for the completely gorgeous last two days (first warning sign ... warm air + cold front = warm air rises and cold air drops and winds up making a fun sideways cyclone sort of thing which eventually sits up on its end from the cloud and drops down toward the earth) ... and then the sirens start.
It's pitching down rain in buckets (with said rain whipping and twirling and blowing in every direction, natch), and Trigger was parked on top of the shelter. First I have to find the keychain (I have one boasting a key collection that puts most prison wardens to shame) and the garage door opener (because it should be on the damn hall table but things look a far sight different when my innards have turned to jelly because the sirens are sounding) ... click the door opener to open the door (but it doesn't work until the fourth go, causing me to be sure that I am going to die today) ... squeeze into the teensy little space between Trigger and Skarlet in the garage and try to get into Trigger without door-dinging Skarlet ... test the two Ford keys to see which one is Trigger's, which is difficult because my hands are shaking like anything ... turn the key one click ... put the Mustang in neutral ... shout at Mark (who has FINALLY got himself outside to help me) to push it toward the west wall so as to be able to access the shelter entry portal ... throw the Mustang in park (and ignore the stupid grindy noise because it won't matter at all that I've stripped the gearbox if we're all dead) ... open the shelter ... go down into the shelter and squish all the spiders and crickets and other squatters, and knock down as many fantastic examples of arachno-architecture as I can find so that the children don't fuss ... find the little bitty TV that we keep in the garage for just this kind of thing ... try to remember how to turn the damn thing on ... tune in Mike Morgan because Gary England has the night off ... prepare to herd everyone down ... sirens stop ... go back into the house, put down bag and flashlights and other necessary things that have been snatched up (passports, foreign currency, file of birth certificates and marriage licenses and property deeds and car titles and other stuff that really should be in a safe deposit box in a vault that will withstand this shit anyhow) ... the sirens start again ... curse a blue streak ... repeat above procedure.
It all sounds like a truly awful sitcom episode, doesn't it?!?! It was a dark and stormy night. Car is parked on top of garage-floor shelter. Car has dead battery and flat tire. Add three frightened children plus one near-panicked Oklahoma-born mum plus one English transplant who isn't afraid of this weather because damnit, he's English, and by-God, we survived the Blitz and we'll survive this (and never mind that he was born 27 years after the Blitz ended). Hilarity ensues.
I would have been laughing my ass off if not for the mortal danger of it all.
Epilogue: the temperature dropped like a rock all Sunday night, and Monday morning was dead cold with a very low wind-chill index. While I was in the kitchen getting breakfast for the twins and a cuppa for Mark (elder daughter K.C. had already hopped on the bus), there was snow blowing about. It's been chilly for the last two days. Kieran and Kendall have learned at school that "if March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a lamb" ... please, let Granny's old saying be true this time!!
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