TMCnet News
Our basement more turbulent than the weather(The Register-Mail Via Thomson Dialog NewsEdge)Ducking storms isn't what it used to be. While living in Princeton, my wife and I had many occasions to flee to the basement. Once there, we drank pop, played Yahtzee and listened to the local radio station. My wife even drew tornado icons on the Yahtzee score sheets. We chuckled during one particular storm when the radio station warned us to take shelter one moment and then returned to regular programming whereby Marvin Gaye urged us to "Get it on" the next. We played more Yahtzee. On Thursday night, we learned that taking shelter with a 16-month-old makes for a different affair. My wife, Sharon, woke me at 9:30 p.m. or so to say we needed to take shelter. My wife, because she's more grown up, takes more heed of storm warnings than do I. Though I'm reluctant to take shelter, I'm glad I have Sharon to guide me toward responsibility. On Thursday night, she had been watching weather reports of the storm coming through Iowa. She had already arranged the provisions, from flashlights to diapers to fruit, just in case we became basement-bound. I woke up our son, Jay, and took him downstairs. Sharon grabbed the cat and did the same. We sat in folding chairs at the card table in the basement listening to the radio, holding a pillow, a blanket, a boy and a cat. The basement smelled like earth. We kept it dark, using the flashlight instead of the overhead fluorescent lights, in hopes of creating an atmosphere for my son to sleep. Lightning flashed continually. The thunder was distant. At first Jay clung to me and seemed tired enough to sleep on my lap. But the circumstances were too engaging. A strange room, a flashlight, a radio, my wife holding the cat in the next chair, and two cans of pop (pop cans fascinate my son) were all too much to sleep through. Soon he perked up, pulled his pacifier out and started to chatter and reach for our cat, who by now was very disturbed by the storm. Our cat, like most animals, doesn't need Doppler radar to know a bad storm is brewing. In such cases her fur puffs up like an '80s hair band and she becomes otherworldly. Quite frankly, I'm afraid when she puts on her "Exorcist" voice. On Thursday night, kitty appeared to be preparing for the apocalypse, which didn't match well with my son's desires to pet her. It wasn't long until my son wanted to be free of my lap. This basement seemed like a place he could sink his teeth into, literally. The problem is, our basement is not fit for child exploration. While one person (I) might call it primitive or Spartan, another person (my wife) might call it filthy or disgusting. The bottom line was that junior needed to be held. So I held him and gave him a snack. Snacks always work but only for a limited time. We needed to wait 15 more minutes or so for the warning to be over, so I walked around with Jay, who was wriggling to get down. Then came the hail, which reminded us why we were in the basement. The storm worsened. And then we heard it. The tornado warning was extended another 45 minutes. This wasn't good. I'd used up all my tricks to distract Jay and he was now whining, which added a dimension of chaos. My wife, meanwhile, wrestled to put the cat in the little carrying cage we use to take her to the vet. We changed rooms to one that seemed more interior after we heard a tornado had been spotted north of town. The hail came again. None of this calmed my son, who was more concerned about being a prisoner in my arms than about the hail and thunder. From this room we could only hear a word or two being broadcast in between Jay's fussing. He was inconsolable now. The 12-pack of Miller Lite in the basement that I've been meaning to throw away since New Year's Eve 2004 started to become an option. But no, I had to stay focused. Jay and I were having a walking rodeo. Eventually, my son became angry enough that it sounded as though he were cursing. He only knows a half-dozen words, so he was clearly ad-libbing. My wife and I couldn't keep a straight face. Our son was growling. Suddenly the weather seemed less turbulent than our basement. A minute before the warning was lifted, my wife said enough and we went upstairs. Our son immediately went to sleep once back in his crib. Without Yahtzee and Marvin Gaye songs, taking shelter is not what it used to be. We have more to protect, so I guess it makes sense that we'd have to work a little harder to protect it. Tom Martin is editor of The Register-Mail in Galesburg, Ill. Contact him at [email protected]. Visit Copley News Service at www.copleynews.com. |