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April 20, 2009

There is a thunderstorm going on tonight. I wouldn’t say it really warrants the title, but I have heard thunder at least twice tonight. This is known as a thunderstorm here in the Northeast. Bah.

There was some thunder the other day at work, and I casually mentioned that I miss storms. My boss, born and raised on Manhattan, seemed surprised.

“But we have storms.” he insisted. Being my boss, I didn’t feel the need to correct him. Oh sure, snow storms happen here, and I suppose on occasion it gets really windy and rainy (OK, that classifies as a storm, I know), but nothing compares to the storms that happen in the middle of the US. Whether you are in upper Illinios or Central Texas, those are real and wild storms.

I remember as a child, never really finding thunderstorms scary. But I did believe that they were romantic, so I pretended to be scared at least a little to enhance the romance level. The only thing I didn’t like about them was that I couldn’t ride my bike and make up my stories**. But I made up for it by curling up in my bed and reading or daydreaming. I could pretend that some perfectly delicious rich Hollywood star would come and fall madly in love with me. He would find my willfulness and stubbornness charming, not at all like my parents, who found it a fault to correct. Or I could daydream that I was a fabulous Hollywood star, successful and charming, but willful and stubborn. (Despite my parents optimism, I had more or less come the conclusion that I would be willful and stubborn my whole life- I think mom owes me 5$.) Or I could read in books, the daydreams of others- wonderful stories about secret gardens, or pioneer girls, or willful, stubborn, but charming Southern belles. Later as a teenager, I would write poetry.

Some of the best stories have wild storms as pivotal plot points. There is such opportunity there. It’s a wealth of material really. Even in life, storms can be major plot points. I can think of one lighting storm during which my actions so changed my life that I have memorialized it in poetry. I literally would not be where I am today, probably, were it not for that fantastic storm on the plain’s of Illinois.
Sitting here, listening to the rain fall down the roof, four stories above me, it’s so easy to become that little girl again- daydreaming, reading, and still writing.
**Side note: To this day exercise kicks my imagination into high gear, and I make up stories on the treadmill. I think it’s the main reason I like the gym, in a lot of ways. My second favorite activity, beside biking, for daydreaming, is mowing the lawn. It’s one of the main reasons I miss having a lawn to mow. My family tease me mercilessly about how much I talked to myself while doing these activities.
2 Comments leave one →
  1. April 22, 2009 11:07 am

    This should go in your NY memoirs book (that I will edit). Lovely.


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