Lightning! It curtailed my Skunk Walk this morning. Except that “curtailed” isn’t exactly the right word. It kept me in the rack just a wee bit longer than usual. I was thinking back to my childhood when I was taught not to use the sink, etc., when there was lightning. As the first and long-awaited child (they were married 11 years before I came along), my moom was so concerned about my safety that, to this day, I am afraid to light a match (for example). I am also terrified of lucky-shucky although I can certainly turn light switches on and off and operate appliances, etc. But I’m still afraid of lightning. Having an iPhone weather app that tells me (sometimes accurately, sometimes not) how close lightning is to my location does not necessarily help. I will say that few years of hanging around with the GG cured me of my once-petrifying fear of overflowing terlets. Thanks buddy! Anyway, I left late for my Skunk Walk and had to limit it to a measly mile or so, so I’d be on time for work Coffee at Barry’s with MMCB.

Unlike my moom, I didn’t have to wait all that long for my first beach urchin to arrive but I know I was a wee bit more of a nervous parent with her than I was with the second one. Like when the second one got her driver’s license and I allowed her to drive downtown to go to a concert(?) until late at night two days after her license became valid (she passed the test a week before her birthday). The first BU was in *college* by then but was so totally incensed about this that she called/emailed/whatever to complain that *she* wouldn’t have been allowed to do that. I’m sorry. I really am. But, although both of my BUs are (and always have been) highly skilled drivers, I am a mother and I will always worry about them driving. As my moom did with me. Always, always, “be careful driving. Watch out for deer and the police are watching.” Yes moom.

Alert! Alert! We interrupt this boring blahg for a news flash. The GG is eating the bitsy piece of leftover salmon filet that was supposed to be my lunch tomorrow. That means I will have to buy something for lunch somewhere. It’s okay. I will manage. Back to the boring blahg.

I’m repeating myself here but this story bears an occasional repeat. There was the time that I was at the moomincabin with my blasted POC (1996 Island Teal Plymouth Voyager SE, if you haven’t been keeping up) and it was over at the Chrysler dealer getting something (I fergit what) done to it so I drove the ‘rent’s loverly little Traf (GEO Tracker) for a couple days. The then octogenarians went to town for the day and left a post-it note on the table. “Don’t drive it over 50 or the engine will blow up.” It was signed “Jack” but it was written in The Commander’s handwriting, including the signature. Say what? I emailed The Engineer to ask if he knew of any problems with the Traf that might cause the engine to blow up. My automotive engineer brother emailed directly back, “WHO THE HELL SAID THAT?” Indeed. In truth, when I drove that vee-hickle over 50, it didn’t quite feel quite right to me but it didn’t seem like the engine was about to blow up. Nevertheless, it motored along for quite a few years after that incident and my dad’s death until The Comm finally sold it.

In later years and particularly in the last horrible year of The Comm’s life, she told me over and over and over ad infinitum [ad nauseam] that I was a *wanted* child. When she was still well, I would banter with her about that. Moom, I may have been a “wanted child” but I am not sure I turned out to the child you *wanted*.

We are ending the day as we started it, with thunder and lightning. This time it’s pretty far away and I was not planning to go out walking.

Oh, except our phones just alerted us to a tornado warning. It’s not looking that threatening out there right now but we’ll see. The GG is doing what he usually does when there’s a tornado warning, which is going outside to look for mating moths around.

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