The whole family spent a short-but-not-insignificantly-so time sitting on the floor in the master bathroom early this morning. From 3:20 to 3:45, maybe?
I love northern Alabama, but as with anywhere, there are trade-offs. A big one here is that a time or three a year, your chances of being indiscriminately thrown hundreds of yards and/or just ripped to pieces increase markedly:
Our weather radio‘s warning tone is lengthy, piercing, and nearly incomprehensibly irritating—desirable qualities in such a device. So it sounded last night, and when the tone stopped and the voice started, it described a tornado warning and named our part of the county. So we collected children, sat in the bathroom floor, and watched our local six-figure meteorologist on my little pocket television that won’t work next year.
With current technology and competent personnel, tornado path tracking is remarkably accurate. It’s to the point that they can list community/landmark names and times for you (example: 3:21 Belle Mina, 3:23 Greenbrier, 3:26 Burgreen Gin, and so forth). Last night they drew a southwest-to-northeast line on the map that went directly over our house.
We escaped. Mathematically, any one family pretty much always will. Others didn’t. God be with them.
So our biggest problem wound up being the lost sleep. It was only about an hour start to finish, but you know how if you miss the wrong hour, it’s as if you never went to sleep at all? Well, it was the wrong hour last night. I was already tired when I left this morning, and coupled with our workout today, I was going to sleep at my desk about 3:30. So I took a little leave and came home for a nap, which lasted until nearly 7, and now I’m headed for horizontal barely three hours later. ‘Night.