Pandemic Playtime: Ol' San Antone

Remember The Alamo?

Remember The Alamo!

We do.  Fondly.

Traffic on Thanksgiving Day out of Dallas was normal to light. We left at around noon and headed out on our first day of our Pandemic Playtime adventure. I had booked a one-night stay at the Historic Menger Hotel, an establishment built in 1859 (burned in 1924 and rebuilt) and filled with memories of historic and flamboyant personages, events and some say dozens of ghosts.

The Menger Hotel, Alamo Plaza, San Antonio

We checked in (wearing masks) to our room on the second floor, which looked over the south wall of the Alamo. It crossed my mind that our window view would have looked out over smoldering carnage and bodies in March of 1836. Now in 2020 we looked over the south wall of the Alamo compound and on-going construction work in the alley below, in an otherwise heavily touristed plaza. Maybe there are ghosts still here. Some historians believe that Davy Crockett fell where the lobby of the Menger Hotel now stands. 

Our room was above on the 2nd floor

More easily documented at the Menger is the presence of Theodore Roosevelt, who recruited volunteers for his Rough Riders cavalry regiment here at the Menger Hotel. The Rough Riders went on to fight  in Cuba in the Spanish-American War. There is plenty of Teddy Roosevelt memorabilia on display in the Menger, including a cavalry uniform worn by a veteran Rough Rider, significant in that it looked tailored to fit my very slight daughter of 100 pounds. The veteran who donated his uniform attested that he carried the cavalry guidon up Kettle Hill in battle, he survived I surmise because he was such a small target.

The hotel lobby opens onto Alamo Plaza, now decorated for Christmas and late November tourists. While poking around in the Menger's interior atrium, we encountered a Swedish couple drinking Champaign and relaxing. This was there seventh year to come to San Antonio in November; it wasn't said, but I Imagine the overcast 73 degree weather in San Antonio was found to be preferable to Stockholm's climate at this time of year. I told the man, "My people also came here from Sweden, but that was 140 years ago - and we've stayed. My name is Suneson."

He grinned at me, and re-pronounced my name, "Oh; sun-ey-SUHN!" with a flourish of his free hand.

I grinned back, "You speak Swedish very well." 

We nodded with mutual smiles as Sue and I left the atrium to mosey along the River Walk and settle on a place to eat our dinner this Thanksgiving evening.

Unexpected Consequences: CDC Orders - "Don't touch your face."
Mark now looks the part of Santa Clause after 9 months without shaving or a haircut.
Ho Ho Ho!

A Texas-sized Tree
With a Lone Star on top

We had a nice, mid-morning breakfast before we left home. We only stopped to fill the SUV's tank, I said I preferred to skip a travel-stop lunch and enjoy a meal on the River Walk in the evening. On the way south, the odometer turned 222,222 miles in San Marcos. The only significance I could think of was that it was Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday. This odometer reading should have happened on a "2's-Day." But in 2020, nothing seems to happen as it is supposed to happen.

We moseyed and we sauntered as we wove in and out among the healthy crowd [healthy in large numbers, not that we could tell who was unhealthy and shedding viruses] of River Walkers. We would pause to read the posted menus and filed their offerings away in our minds as possible places to dine al fresco. Many restaurants were dark, closed due to company policy or economics of the pandemic. Most of the places specializing in alcoholic beverages were open; which makes me believe the restaurants that were dark closed out of economic necessity, since those that served the thirsty public appeared to be well patronized. 

We mosey along on the San Antonio's River Walk

It looks like a 'White Christmas'
by the looks of Mark's head and face

 We pretty much walked from one end of the River Walk, to the other; coming out and poking around the Hemisfair Plaza, where that 'modern' architecture that screams 1960's still stands as a tribute to the 1968 World's Fair that San Antonio hosted. I remember when people used to gather and show their faces at large scale, multi-day events and didn't have a care in the world. 

 We passed by a plethora of flowering plants, in our stroll. The large Bougainvillea caught Sue's eye as she has been particularly proud of her potted 'bougy' on our deck and its profuse set of blooms this year. 

A River boat tour cruises past and open-air restaurant

The sun begins to set, the air is shirt-sleeve warm, my tastes are running toward salt and lime. It is too soon to look for turkey leftovers. I announce my preference for dinner on Thanksgiving night, "I'd like to eat Tex-Mex - and that mean a mean margarita to start off with."

The pretty senorita who has been following me pauses at an outdoor eating establishment featuring Tex-Mex food. I walk up behind her and whisper to the hostess, "A table for two, por favor. On the patio with a view of the river." The pretty senorita in front of me hesitates for a moment, I catch her arm and urge her to follow the hostess to the table on the patio. 

She takes a seat under the festive lights in the dusk of the old town. She removes her mask and ah-ha! It's my wife! I am delighted that I have chosen so well. She smiles at me once her veil has dropped from her lips and she invites me to enjoy the evening with her.

A bowl of chips and a bowl of salsa land on our table, soon followed by my salt-rimmed margarita. The lady chooses a fruit-forward cider and is happy. I am happy. I am Thankful. This Pandemic Playtime is going to work out just fine. 

A table with the lovely, unveiled senorita
Thanksgiving Night's Dinner
in old San Antone

Returning to the Menger after dinner, I suggest that we have to try our luck at seeing Teddy Roosevelt's ghost in the Menger Bar. There are stories that Teddy haunts the Menger bar, but I'm quite skeptical of those stories, they seem implausible, even for ghost stories. I did a bit of research on every president's favorite drink, and Teddy mostly abstained from strong drink, though he did admit that he enjoyed maybe half-a-dozen mint juleps over the course of a year from the mint patch at the White House.

The old Menger bar is paneled in dark wood and is quite cozy. I ordered a mint julep in the name of TR; the bartender tells me he would make a good one, except he doesn't have any mint. I feel this is a dishonor to Teddy. I am even more skeptical now that TR's ghost would ever visit this place. I choose a Long Island Ice Tea, since Theodore Roosevelt lived and died on Long Island. Sue licks her lips at the idea of a tumbler of Bailey's Irish Cream. I tip the barkeep well since he is working on Thanksgiving and he tells me the Menger ghost have been very quiet since the pandemic. Alas, just as I suspected. We take our glasses up the narrow stairs to the paneled loft, a place filled with history and artifacts from the Rough Riders.

The Swedish couple whom we met in the atrium this afternoon comes up the stairs after we are well into our drinks. As we finish, I raise a glass to the Swedes and say, "It's a pleasure to see you again. Perhaps we'll meet again this time next year?" He nods and smiles as we descend the staircase and find the narrow elevator that will take us to our ghost-free room.

In the morning, we take our breakfast in the Menger's Continental Room. We take another brief morning walk along the River Walk before we bid adios, and check out. We are heading to the Gulf Coast and the beach via Corpus Christ. A new and undiscovered part of Texas for us.

  

Pandemic Playtime Prelude

 Like all you, we've been isolated, discombobulated, truncated, barricaded and situated in a strange world of outside infections and inside reflections for nine months - and counting. 

I asked the wife, "What do you want to do?"

The wife says, "Nothing. What can we do? What do you want to do?"

I say to the wife, "It's going to be Thanksgiving in a few weeks; none of the kids are even thinking about traveling for the holiday. Your family, which has often hosted us for Thanksgiving, has made it clear that they do not want to host a potentially virus vector gathering. Nothing doing in 2020 for Thanksgiving and family. A nonstarter to be sure. I say, we declare a properly socially distant, mainly isolated 'Pandemic Playtime' and bug out of here. What do you say to that?"

The wife says to me. "Properly socially distanced? Isolated? What do you have in mind?"

I tell her that I've long wanted to camp on Padre Island National Seashore's beach. It'd be primitive camping, it'd be very isolated. It'd be the perfect place for the pandemic; 4-Wheel drive required to drive on the beach, but I've got a 4WD Toyota 4Runner, we're in an exclusive club - that's our ticket babe. There's 60 miles of undeveloped beach for us to pick a place to be far from the Covid crowd. 

She sounds intrigued. "Two questions: One, what are the 'facilities' like if we primitive camp? Two, how long does it take to get down there?" She starts to crawfish on me; she's a great sport and though I can tell she's not thrilled with the idea of exchanging civilized facilities for a 'cat hole', she is not going to let that situation dismantle my dream adventure. However, she expresses worry about taking time off, her first vacation time all year in a hectic, discombobulated kind of year. "I'm supposed to kick off Advent for the congregation then, I don't know if I can take time away. I guess I could ask."

[She asks for time off, it is of course granted. There will be no live church services as the infection rate jumps. The church is going back to prerecorded Zoom, like they've been doing since March. She is asked to just record you kick-off message video before you leave. Simple. Go with blessings, you've worked too hard all the difficult year to not take some R&R before the end of the year. Go!]

I plan our Pandemic Playtime. 

We leave town around noon on Thursday, November 26, Thanksgiving. We arrive in San Antonio and grab dinner there. 

We leave San Antonio the next day for Padre Island. We drive along the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, looking for a place to pitch our tent in the sand. We stay Friday night listening to the surf's soothing rhythm, explore and play all day Saturday and pack up and leave the island on Sunday.

Since you have plenty of deserved vacation, we'll linger in Fredericksburg. We'll reconnect with some great people, Dave Ewing (housemate from my Grad School days in Austin 1981-1984) and his wife Teri. We will take a day to visit one of Texas' most engaging State parks, Enchanted Rock, all while booking two days in a remote, rural Airbnb.

I change the oil in my SUV, rotate the tires and then stuff it full of camping gear and supplies. We will cook up a proper Thanksgiving meal after we return. We have rescheduled our Thanksgiving for Saturday, December 5. Why do anything normal in a year like 2020?

Let's get on the road and enjoy our Pandemic Playtime. A parade of posts and pictures of our Pandemic Playtime follows on this blog.

Enjoy the journey (be advised that you may want to check the weather forecast before you plan your journey) [foreshadowing].

   

  

Memories of Mom

Memories of Mom

Mom, we love you!

While reflecting on what I should write, it only occurred to me after several drafts: what extraordinary character qualities Mom posses and with which she carried herself.  She was always, "just Mom" to me; but indeed she was a special kind of person.  In reflection I cannot recall Mom complaining, ever speaking a cross word and I certainly never heard her cuss, nor do I think she ever expressed out loud a spiteful thought about another person.  I know she was injured, slighted and hurt - like we all are; but what solid character to hold one's tongue and proceed through all of life's turmoil with serenity.  Serenity to the end.  Yes she was just Mom, but was unlike any other which any us have ever known. Mom, we love you.

Mom, we love you not for what you did, but for who you are. But let it be said:

Mom, You did all things well.

Speaking of doing things well: let me take time to speak to what we know and what should be said aloud; Sister Sheri, you have done all things well as well.  Sheri, Thank you for your season of care for Mom.  Know that each one of us in the family is grateful to you.

We gather and stand before mystery. Mysteries of life; and may I add, we now face the mysteries of death - as a part of life.

Mom, you did all things well; 

Mom you did all things well and did things wisely.

Mom, maybe I didn't always see you as wise, and maybe not everything you did was full of wisdom; but I see it now, Mom you were a wise woman.

On the morning of your passing, I was moved to pick up and read the Book of Ecclesiastes; I wondered if I would find comfort in a book that paradoxically really offers no comfort.  The theme of Ecclesiastes is that all of our life's efforts amount to chasing the wind.  No matter who we are and what we accomplish, for good or for ill, death comes to us all. Mom, You had the wisdom of Solomon - you understood that the ultimate joy comes from small and simple things.  You found comfort in ordinary moments.  You were a wise woman.

These ancient words I read in Ecclesiastes that morning of your passing, were the words of the "Teacher", the wise and ancient King of Israel, King Solomon.  It was a couple days later that I learned that the thoughts expressed in Ecclesiastes were words that resonated with you.  You had chosen the words of Ecclesiastes as words that you wanted us to hear when we gathered to remember you.  I words I read that lonely morning: 

There is a time for everything

and a season for everything under heaven

A time to be born

and a time to die

A time to weep

and a time to laugh,

A time to mourn

and a time to dance.

Seasons 

Mom, you knew this wisdom of the seasons.

Mom, you knew there would come a time for every one of these seasons under heaven.

Mom, you proclaimed that your years under heaven were full and were good and that in its own season you would welcome their passage after a good and full life under the sun.  To everything there is a season.  This you knew.

We all heard your words telling of life's seasons. 

You spoke of your readiness for a new season, and of your comfort in knowing that the old season was to fade into an eternal season in the presence of our Creator and our Savior Jesus.

Now we have come together into a season of mourning, for now is a time for us to weep and a time for us to mourn.  And while this sad season is upon us, let us take this time of mourning to remember you in brighter seasons when you were with us.

The Beginning - In the Garden.

I'd like to start at the beginning, I mean the very beginning.

When God created humankind; where did he put man and woman?  God put them in paradise, in the middle of his creation, God put them in a garden.

Mom, you were at home in God's Creation, the Garden was your spiritual home.

Mom, you did all things well. 

Mom you enjoyed and worked your gardens as the Lord meant it to be. 

Mom, you were wise to enjoy and find meaning in the simplest of things and in your wisdom you understood the beauty of the creation in which we were placed.

Mom had gardens, simple and pleasant gardens wherever we lived.  Mom helped me plant my first garden in Yuba City,  we planted an onion.  And when it came time to move away in 1962, I recall my greatest worry as a 4 1/2 year old - what about my onion still in the garden?  It was such a good onion that I left behind in that garden on Stafford Drive.  I've had a fondness for onions ever since Mom and I planted that lonely allium and left it behind, an orphan in the garden.

Mom delighted in the sweet peas covering the back fence of our home in Novato and the profusion of snap dragons, holly hocks, sunflowers and other blooming things ad indelphinium.  There were daffodils and multitudes of colorful flowers surrounded the house in Madera.  To be sure there was Mom's simple enjoyment of her flowers and vegetables growing on the shores of Flathead Lake in Polson. 

When it came time to move Mom and Dad to Tumwater, Barth and I were cramming all kinds of items into our two U-Haul trucks when I noticed a flat box full of tulip bulbs sitting on the garage floor.  I said to myself, "Mom's tulips!  I can't leave these lonely bulbs behind.  I'll make sure there's going to be enough room in the back of the truck to rescue Mom's garden."  I was thinking of that onion which I sadly left behind in Yuba City. I vowed that I would not let that happen again.  I hauled those tulip bulbs down to Texas where Sue planted those tulip bulbs of Mom's.  Sue said to me, "You have to send your Mom pictures of her flowers once they bloom this spring, she'd enjoy that so much."  I sent her a picture when, in their season, they bloomed last spring in Texas.  We have Mom's tulips coming back to greet us this spring. Mom enjoyed the creation and the simple joy of a garden - just like God always intended. Mom was wise in what she choose to appreciated.  A reminder of life's Simple beauty.

Mom, you did all things well. 

But one of the things you did very well was capture the creation with your extraordinary eye for color, composition and style.  Your interest in the creation and in creating has been a continued blessing to us all.  I do not think that I'm mistaken when I say that I think every home represented among our greater family has the blessing of your talent and an element of beauty from one of your artistic creations proudly displayed within their walls.  Truly, these painting are family treasures to keep and to remind us of you and your keen eye for the creation. You will continue to grace our lives through your creation.

Family.

Mom, you did all things well. 

Yes, gardens were a delight as you raised your plants, but you excelled in raising us and maintaining our family.  There were so many everyday things you did so well that they just seemed normal.  It is not until I look back over my shoulder with the perspective of an adult and a parent that I understand what you provided.  Mom, you did the task of parenting so well, you made life seem so normal, so ordinary.  In retrospect what I see in our family was anything but ordinary in comparison to so many other families beset seeds of disharmony and bickering - as I look back, I say you accomplished something far from ordinary, I say you raised an extraordinary family. 

Mom, you prepared our dinners and we always sat around the table as a family and gave thanks to God for what we before we had meals together. 

Do not underestimate the power and the blessing that the gathering the family for a daily meal has on a child. Mom did not.

Mom, you did that well.

I was once asked, "How were you raised?"  I was quick and proud to reply, "Gloriously."  Mom, you gave us the gift of freedom, self-discovery, a chance to roam and expand our world and explore our identities. Mom, you enabled my boyhood days to soar with untethered imagination and rich experiences that are seldom, if ever known to today's kids.  Our lives were founded on a solid family and unclipped wings (within reason).  

Yes, you did "The Mom Job" well - yes, so very well.  

Thank you Mom.

Mom, your were wise in the way you nurtured each of us.  Mom, you knew the power and the wisdom of unselfishly tending to each of our delights and individual interests.  One of my favorite memories is the memory of a shared passion.  On the days when I stayed home from school because I was ill, you would take down from the top of the closet shelf those wonderful boxes filled with sea shell that you had collected.  Together, we would thumb through the illustrated books of sea shells and match the pictures to the specimen we'd pulled from the box.  You loved the shells for the intrinsic beauty of their ornate sculpting; I wanted to identify genus and species and know the science.  We came at the shell collection from different angles, but we shared a passion on those sick days.  Those sick days of delving into science and beauty are good and powerful memories.  It was Good Medicine.

As you gathered your young brood around you, as yet unskilled in reading, you would take the time to read to us kids.  When I had an opportunity to select a book from the library for you to read to me; for me, it was always about Reptiles - Reptiles and Amphibians.  We read every single book from the school and city library on reptiles and amphibians.  As I listened by your side to accounts of Komodo Dragons, Gila Monsters, cobras and scarlet kings snakes, my imagination soared and my wonder for the creation was kindled.

Do not underestimate the power of a vision and a shared passion has on a child.  Mom did not.

Yes, Mom; you did that that well.  

You did that well for each of us. 

While I listened in fascination and learned all I could about the world's reptiles and amphibians; you once told me that your reading to me brain-washed you so that you grew to tolerate and understand the reptiles - up to a point.  Taht point was croseed when one of my smaller gopher snakes disappeared from his cage in my bedroom, only to be discovered by you days later in the linen closet as you reached for a fresh set of sheets; there came a new rule:  Snakes - Yes, but Snakes inside - No.  They have to be kept outside.

All creatures bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small; our dear Mom loved them all.  You had a soft spot for the creatures of the creations (even snakes).  Mom, you made sure that we had pets - and I wonder now if they were for us or for you?  No matter, all creatures great and small, yes Mom, you loved them all.  We had mice, hamsters, guinea pigs (yes, lots and lots of guinea pigs), dogs and lizards and the Suneson signature pet, the Desert Tortoise.  All we Sunesons regaled in the distinction of having a clatter of tortoises ranging in our back yard.  

Mom, you did so many things.  You kept the house in immaculate order, your served family meals, made us after-school snacks and made custom birthday cakes.  You sewed our extravagant Halloween costumes and helped us make papier-mâché masks and crafted our holiday decorations for the home.  Those were the priorities and I say that you did all of those things well.

Beneath the mundane, day-to-day tasks which you accomplished with joy as a wonderful wife and mother, you went about life with a streak of whimsy and a mischievous sense of humor. Which was a times evident to us, but perhaps too often hidden.

After I'd grown, married and had my own house, you came to visit us, and I had left my Halloween giant spider web and big black spider suspended over my porch weeks after the last trick-or-treating had rung my doorbell.  Actually, it was so long after Halloween that it was now Thanksgiving.  I came home from work and noticed you'd fashioned a little pilgrim's hat and placed on my Halloween spider.  Very funny Mom.  Subtle, but very clever.  You enjoyed little incongruities like that and you enjoyed the mild prank.

 

Yes, you did that well too mom.

Mom could be a bit of a trickster.

 ***

As young parents, Sue and I had settled around the dining room table after the delicate dance of getting the young 'uns to bed and tucked in for what we hoped would be a multi-hour sleep for the two of us a little later.  At last, our evening was quiet.

Thud!  The sound parents of toddlers fear to hear.

We scrambled out of our seats and raced upstairs to Grant's room, the source of the disquieting thump.  We rounded the corner to look into his crib.  

It was empty.

There was little Grant standing on the floor, holding his arms up in exaltation,  his eyes beaming with mirthful accomplishment.  We looked down at him, he was smiling broadly and obviously unhurt from his topple out of his crib.  He had mounted the bars that once held him in and he had scaled the securely latched side panel, up he went, up and over!  

"I did a trick!"  He boasted to his parents as he stood free of constraints on his bedroom floor.  "I did a trick!"

Sue and I looked at one another, it was obvious that we were in a new season.  Our son was no longer to be held in a baby's crib; it was a new season, a season for a big-boy bed.

Mom you were wise.  

For you knew that for everything there is a season under heaven.  

Mom you spoke of not wanting to live forever, for you knew of the promise of our Creator.  Mom lived in the hope and strong confidence of the resurrection.  A resurrection from this fallen world, a world far from the ideals of that original garden where God had first placed us.  A place, a garden where we were created to be, way back in the beginning.

Mom, you were wise to not chase the wind, to seek fleeting wealth or establish monuments; rather you sought what was pure and what was good.  The simple pleasures to be found during this season of life under heaven.  

Mom, you did that oh so very well.

Mom, in your wisdom you understood that we all inhabit a fallen world.  

You were not deluded nor were you fooled by reality of this world.

A world where the ground that was meant to be a garden is now a ground infested thorns and cursed with briers.

A world where the bright, inquisitive mind and artistic eyes are dimmed and set in wicked shadow by the cruelness of dementia.

A world where a kind heart brimming with love of others grows weary with years.

I say life is mystery.  The writer of Ecclesiastes advises:

As you do not know the path of the wind,

or how the body is formed in a mother's womb,

so you cannot understand the works of God,

the maker of all things.

If that is the reality - I'm not sure I find comfort in that truth. 

But I do find comfort in a revelation of life's mystery and what Mom has left with us.  Mom, I know that when you told us that you were not going to be here forever, you were preparing us for this season of mourning.

You were wise.  

You saw no benefit to clinging to a life that was descending ever deeper with the affliction of a shadowed mind.

You were wise.  

You saw no benefit to more days of probing, scraping, cutting and skin biopsies.

You lived in the promise of the resurrection, you claimed that promise and I think you summoned your mischievous side to claim Jesus' promise. 

I am open to mystery.

Here is the mystery -

Is this not poetic?  

Is this not whimsical?  

Was is it not accomplished with an artistic flair?

You celebrated Dad's 89th birthday with family all around and a good meal.

It had been a good day.  

It had been a good life, it had been a full life.  

You turned to your bed for the night.

Oh Mom. 

You gave a glimpse of life's mystery.  I believe you had little twist for us. 

I think I can hear you saying to us from glory, "I did a trick!

Oh Mom, yes you did a trick. 

You broke free of those mortal bars of transitive flesh that were constraining your spirit.

You broke out of this mortal box that held you, and you scampered up and over into paradise with our Lord and our God.

You gave the slip to that cruel thief of memories that was stalking you.

You would give no more time to flesh beset with cancer.

You did a trick. 

You did a trick on your own terms.  How wonderful.

And now you are free.  Now you are in a season of eternal peace and you are free to tend the Garden of Creation.  Free from shadow, pain, affliction and loss.

I am confident that you have landed in a place where:

When we've been there ten thousand years

Bright shining as the sun,

We've no less days to sing God's praise

Than when we first begun.

Mom, you were ready.  

You told us you were ready.

Your last day of your season of life in the flesh was a day gathered with family. 

You enjoyed the party, the food and the fellowship.

You went to bed and surprised us with your sudden disappearance.

Maybe we should not have been surprised.

It is a mystery as to whether Mom in her own way and maybe her own time, chose to leave us when she did.  

When she slipped away from us -

There was no hospitalization.

There were no strangers poking you or invasive efforts made to ease your discomfort.

There were no reasons for your family to be concerned, much less filled with worry.

No.  If this is the way you chose to leave us - as sad as it is for us left behind;

May I say; Mom, you did it well.

Back to life, and to us the living; let say to one another as we think of our beloved mother, grandmother and wife:

Mom, The best trick is to live well and live wisely, enjoying the simple pleasures. 

Echoing the words of Ecclesiastes, let us eat, let us drink and let us enjoy the pleasure of one another's company while God gives us life under the heaven.

Yes - You did that so well.

Vaya con Dios, Mom. 

Go with God.

We love you!

It was a pleasure and a joy to share the world with one so gracious, so good and so loving as you.

Mary Lucinda Suneson

July 12, 1932 to February 9, 2020

Tornado! Seek Shelter - Now!

I don't know how many people paid to watch the film Sharknado, or for that matter, Sharknado II, III or XXVI.  And I don't know how many of those who paid to see the film(s) enjoyed it.  Probably more than would admit it.

But I know of plenty of people around here who would have paid not to see Tornado - Garland Edition, which opened suddenly on Sunday, October 20, 2019.

This could have been us - but it wasn't

My cell does not receive the typical bad weather alerts issued the authorities.  My wife's phone gathers every watch and warning sent out.  The text alerts are almost always "severe thunderstorm warning" (yeah, we got that clue when we heard the thunder and saw all of the lightning 5 minutes ago, thanks for the information).  But this time was different.  I did receive on my phone, a red screen with the text, Tornado Warning.  I had to do the mental calculation for this part of the world; Watch = "It might happen, be alert to the possibility", versus Warning = "It's happening! It's happening now!"  We were advised to tune into local media for further information.

NBC was airing the Cowboys vs the Eagles NFL football game, everyone knows that is sacrosanct in these parts; no way NBC was going to break away from what really matters to alert the populace of a tornado on the ground.  Heck, millions are interested in the Dallas Cowboys, but what's the worst that can happen?  Maybe 20 or so people get killed?  One has to weigh the factors involved; millions of viewers vs a relatively few people in harms way.  Cowboys win!  That one was easy.   

We turned to Fox News and listened to their team of meteorologists and watched their Doppler radar feed which showed red/green pixels indicating rotation in the atmosphere; in plain English, a tornado.  Confirmation reports were broadcast of a tornado on the ground near Love Field Airport, west side of Dallas.  We were watching this report unfold in Garland, northeast of Dallas.  Tornadoes always travel southwest to northeast.  Tornadoes are often on the ground for only a mile or two.  Albeit, a destructive mile or two, but though it can happen, the path of destruction is not usually measured in multiple miles.  I felt that the dangerous circulation being tracked on radar would dissipate before it came the 20 miles or so to our neighborhood.  But I kept a watchful eye as long as we had power.

Sue asked if she should get our tornado shelter space ready?  I told her the prediction was for this tornado to reach Garland by 9:31, and yikes! the part of Garland projected to be in its path was right were we were watching from our imperiled two-story house.  In answer to your question dear; "Yes, I think it would be a good idea to clear out our tornado shelter."  Our tornado shelter is the closet space under the staircase.  It is in the middle of the house, away from windows and doors.  Since we are lacking a basement, it seems like it fits most of the criteria recommended for those who wish to remain in Texas rather than being transported to Oz.  I watched the TV (such a man-thing - right?) while my wife hauled out the vacuum cleaner, boxes of board games and some nice looking Montana agates that are stored in the coat closet under the staircase.  I suggested we grab the pillows from the bed for additional protection.  We closed the window blinds, removed items from the mantle and placed them at floor level.  

Sue asked, "What about the tortoises? Where should we put them?"  

I said "They're hibernating.  They aren't listening to the news alerts, I don't think they are too worried.  Besides they're low to the ground and have hard shells, they should be fine."

"No. Like are they good where they are?"

"I think so.  We don't have room to put the four of them in the tiny closet with us."

I watched the Doppler signal grow ever closer to the major intersection near our house.  Sue had made a cozy little storm nest.  It was ready 10 minutes before the projected hit.  I watched the TV coverage up until the forecast tornado was said to be about 3 minutes from our house.  I turned up the volume of the TV as we tucked ourselves in beneath the coat rack and shut the door.  I turned to my wife, "I think we are going to loose our roof in a few minutes."

We waited.  We listened.  We heard no rain.  We heard no wind. We heard no 'freight train' noise, as all survivors of tornadoes declare they hear the sound of a freight train prior to destruction.  

"My legs are cramped." I admitted after squatting in the dark for several minutes.

"Yeah, my neck's got a kink in it." Said my storm closet companion.

"OK.  I think we're safe. Let's get out of here."  I opened the door and took my turn to reassemble the house back to its original order, including stacking the games, agates and vacuum cleaner back into the tornado shelter.  Strange.  There was almost no rain or wind during this event, even though we were in the cross-hairs based on sophisticated weather radar.

+++

The sun came up Monday and it was a nice day after a big 1 AM electrical storm (no severe weather or tornadic activity with this second storm system roaring through Garland).  I had a Monday morning meeting outside of Fort Worth to show one of my oil prospects.  I had spent 8 hours in my office on Saturday putting together the needed maps and exhibits for my presentation.  I had decided to put everything I needed in my car, so I didn't need to travel the 6 miles back to my office to pick everything up.  I'd was prepared to leave from home and drive directly to Ft. Worth.  Good choice as it turns out.

Tornado Damage being repaired
Along Shiloh Road, outside my office window

Upon my return to Garland mid afternoon, it was taking me an inordinate amount of time to navigate back to my office due to heavy traffic.  Weird.  As I get close to my building on Shiloh Road, my usual route is blocked by emergency vehicles, police and fire.  I reroute myself and pull in from the west.  There are only a few cars in the office parking lot and many electric utility trucks.  The hand-written sign on the building door says, "Building Closed. No Power."

I survey my surroundings and I see that there is a plenitude of storm damage along Shiloh.  I go home.  I check emails and see one from the building management.  "Storm damage, no power until further notice."

Tornado Destruction
From Office Building Rooftop

I hear nothing by Tuesday, so I drive into work in the morning to see what is happening.  Still no power, so I climb the darkened stairwell using my cell phone flashlight app to my second floor office.  I return some paper work to my desk and then leave.  No electricity, no computer, means no work in the 21st Century.

One of the building maintenance guys shares his phone photos of the destruction with me.  The tornado hit the trucking depot at the lot to the west and then traveled northeast and smashed the unused (just completed) warehouse immediately to the north.  

Wow.  That was close.  Absolutely no damage to the office and despite the predicted path, no damage our home either.

Later in the week, I took some photos along Shiloh Road of the tornado's destruction.  It lasted about 1/4 of a mile, had winds estimated at 135 MPH.  Destroyed the warehouse, damaged 15-20 homes but neither killed nor injured anyone.

The NE corner remains standing, the rest of the recently constructed (and still unoccupied)
warehouse on the lot north of my business office was crumpled.
My office building the the glass 6-story building on the middle horizon

Tornado debris piled along Shiloh Road.
Metal from the destroyed warehouse was ripped and thrown
across the road, damaging houses.
(My office stands in the distance)

Blue tarps cover missing roofs.
Clean-up crews started immediately to saw downed trees
and clear the streets for traffic.

Tornado EF-3 results: Missing roof, snapped tree limbs and
building material carried around 200 yards, landing about 20 feet up in a tree.

The hanging tree

Roof Repair?  What Roof?
This house is 2 lots east of Shiloh Road.  Destroyed warehouse in the background.

Tree limbs stripped in 135 MPH winds.
Undamaged warehouse (identical to the one destroyed) in the background.

Snapped power pole.

Collapsed building.
But by the grace of God, there go I.

National Weather Service inspection teams combed the area and destruction sites in the following days.  The final report identified 10 tornadoes in the area that night, no deaths, only a couple of minor injuries.

Even the sophisticated news weather radar didn't show 10 tornadoes.  The point being, they could drop on you out of anywhere - just ask the witch with ruby slippers.  The EF-3 twister documented above at Shiloh and Miller Roads was not identified on radar.

Coming up on Thanksgiving, we have many things to be thankful for.  Including our distance from the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific, otherwise it could have been worse.  It could have been Sharknado XXVII!