We fly back to NY tomorrow. Austin has been wonderful and a terrifically fun time for both kids, but I have to say we are ready to resume our normal routine. As is Grandma, I am sure.
I have always loved Austin. I have always wished that we lived here. That is, until the last 48 hours. Because in those 48 hours I witnessed first-hand exactly what the consequences can be when you combine wide vast expanses of flat land and big sky with hot humid weather.
Thunderstorms.
And when there are thunderstorms here, often you are the tallest thing around. And when you are the tallest object, lightning takes on a profoundly terrifying aura. I exaggerate a little, we were not ever the tallest object, but it sure felt like it. On Sunday night, as we relaxed in our hotel room on the 12th floor in San Antonio, we watched a thunderstorm move across the sky as I pondered the fact that there was a tornado warning in effect. Or a tornado watch. Whichever is worse. The 12th floor feels very vulnerable during a tornado watch. Especially one that faces west. I came close to relocating the kids and the bedding and myself to the stairwell, but stuck it out because the 11:00 news weatherman never said the word “tornado” – only flash floods and washouts. Which did not seem to be an issue for us at the moment. The next day was beautiful, bright, and sunny, albeit a bit damp around the edges. We navigated the wild animal park successfully and got home in time to go to Chuy’s for tex-mex and the Children’s Museum.
Then today we made plans to go to the Rodeo when Carter woke up from his nap. The sun was shining when we left, but it had clouded over by the time we arrived at the Rodeo grounds. This was not a bad thing, because the Rodeo can be blistering hot, and a bit of cloud cover is nice. Then the drizzle started. So, we headed to the livestock barn, where there is a kid’s section with pony rides, a petting zoo, and Elsie, the cosmetically enhanced Borden’s cow. Both kids had a great time, and Ava was entranced by the baby goats that sat quietly in her lap, happy to be cuddled and warm. This obviously meant that Ava was sitting in poop-laden shavings, but whatever. That cavalier attitude would haunt me later as I realized that farm animal smell clings to people and clothing relentlessly and that we were getting on a plane in 12 hours, but for the moment I was happy that she was happy. Carter decided he had had enough of goats and tame deer and of all things, a kangaroo, and we left to go ponder the rest of the building. I noticed that the wind was picking up outside the big open doors, and that men seemed to be moving rather rapidly to close them and so I casually inserted myself into one of their conversations. Thanks to good ol’ Texas chivalry I learned that there was a severe thunderstorm coming through the area and that floods and high winds and hail were expected. I looked around at the building and at all of the relaxed happy folk running around and decided that this was the last place on earth I wanted to be. Corrugated steel and I-beams seemed like a poor choice of shelter materials. The man that had informed me about the weather mentioned that he was concerned about the animals, that they might get jittery, and so I went into rapid response mode and pulled Ava and Grandma out of the petting zoo before they were the victims of a miniature goat stampede. I filled Grandma in on the weather situation, and she went in search of more information. At that moment, a man in an official rodeo 4-wheeler rolled in and apparently urged all of the rodeo staff to “take cover, now!” (note: at no point did anyone ever inform rodeo spectators that doing so might be a good idea). Grandma grabbed an employee by the arm and said “where?!”—and thus began our terrifying flight across 50 yards of open space to a concrete-block building chock full of tchotchke for sale. Ava absorbed every last ounce of fear-induced adrenaline and was sufficiently panicked by the time we got there, having screamed “mommy why are you running?!!” about 7 times before I answered her. I had carried her in my arms, and I am fairly certain that I said “shit shit shit shit shit shit shit” the whole way. But it was justified, as the sky was discharging bolts of lightning everywhere. In fact, I might have employed every last curse I have every heard. Once inside, I did damage control with her, and was pleased to learn that Carter found it hysterical. We tooled around in there for a while, listening to public service announcements and warnings, and then accosted a man with a computer and a link to the local radar. He let us know that we were in a lull and that the worst was due to arrive in an hour. So, off we ran to the parking lot. Oddly enough, there were people milling about outside, people who apparently thought that lightning felt nice. Admittedly, at that point the sky was a lot lighter, but we still ran. This time I smartened up and flung Ava onto my back, which made running a lot easier. Everything was fine until we got to the car and just as Grandma unlocked it a HUGE bold of lightning struck somewhere close and then a GIANT crack of thunder opened up above us, and please forgive me everyone, especially you Jesus, but at that point I screamed “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, GET IN THE CAR NOW!” Ava, true to her nature, snapped to it and jumped in across the back seat and I wrestled Carter out of his (metal) stroller, and we both dove in to the safety of a small container with rubber wheels. Ava was again peppering me with whys and I first apologized to her for cursing and then I simply said “it is dangerous and we needed to get somewhere safe.” Frankly, I do not care how scared she is of storms. I am not sorry that I terrified the living wits out of her. I am sorry in the sense that I do not want her to be distressed, but not that she learned that the weather can be dangerous. So, we drove back to Austin, breathed a collective sigh of relief (hellllooooo cliché), watched the radar on the computer for a while and had an early dinner.
And tomorrow we return to the relative safety of regular ice-storms.
I have always loved Austin. I have always wished that we lived here. That is, until the last 48 hours. Because in those 48 hours I witnessed first-hand exactly what the consequences can be when you combine wide vast expanses of flat land and big sky with hot humid weather.
Thunderstorms.
And when there are thunderstorms here, often you are the tallest thing around. And when you are the tallest object, lightning takes on a profoundly terrifying aura. I exaggerate a little, we were not ever the tallest object, but it sure felt like it. On Sunday night, as we relaxed in our hotel room on the 12th floor in San Antonio, we watched a thunderstorm move across the sky as I pondered the fact that there was a tornado warning in effect. Or a tornado watch. Whichever is worse. The 12th floor feels very vulnerable during a tornado watch. Especially one that faces west. I came close to relocating the kids and the bedding and myself to the stairwell, but stuck it out because the 11:00 news weatherman never said the word “tornado” – only flash floods and washouts. Which did not seem to be an issue for us at the moment. The next day was beautiful, bright, and sunny, albeit a bit damp around the edges. We navigated the wild animal park successfully and got home in time to go to Chuy’s for tex-mex and the Children’s Museum.
Then today we made plans to go to the Rodeo when Carter woke up from his nap. The sun was shining when we left, but it had clouded over by the time we arrived at the Rodeo grounds. This was not a bad thing, because the Rodeo can be blistering hot, and a bit of cloud cover is nice. Then the drizzle started. So, we headed to the livestock barn, where there is a kid’s section with pony rides, a petting zoo, and Elsie, the cosmetically enhanced Borden’s cow. Both kids had a great time, and Ava was entranced by the baby goats that sat quietly in her lap, happy to be cuddled and warm. This obviously meant that Ava was sitting in poop-laden shavings, but whatever. That cavalier attitude would haunt me later as I realized that farm animal smell clings to people and clothing relentlessly and that we were getting on a plane in 12 hours, but for the moment I was happy that she was happy. Carter decided he had had enough of goats and tame deer and of all things, a kangaroo, and we left to go ponder the rest of the building. I noticed that the wind was picking up outside the big open doors, and that men seemed to be moving rather rapidly to close them and so I casually inserted myself into one of their conversations. Thanks to good ol’ Texas chivalry I learned that there was a severe thunderstorm coming through the area and that floods and high winds and hail were expected. I looked around at the building and at all of the relaxed happy folk running around and decided that this was the last place on earth I wanted to be. Corrugated steel and I-beams seemed like a poor choice of shelter materials. The man that had informed me about the weather mentioned that he was concerned about the animals, that they might get jittery, and so I went into rapid response mode and pulled Ava and Grandma out of the petting zoo before they were the victims of a miniature goat stampede. I filled Grandma in on the weather situation, and she went in search of more information. At that moment, a man in an official rodeo 4-wheeler rolled in and apparently urged all of the rodeo staff to “take cover, now!” (note: at no point did anyone ever inform rodeo spectators that doing so might be a good idea). Grandma grabbed an employee by the arm and said “where?!”—and thus began our terrifying flight across 50 yards of open space to a concrete-block building chock full of tchotchke for sale. Ava absorbed every last ounce of fear-induced adrenaline and was sufficiently panicked by the time we got there, having screamed “mommy why are you running?!!” about 7 times before I answered her. I had carried her in my arms, and I am fairly certain that I said “shit shit shit shit shit shit shit” the whole way. But it was justified, as the sky was discharging bolts of lightning everywhere. In fact, I might have employed every last curse I have every heard. Once inside, I did damage control with her, and was pleased to learn that Carter found it hysterical. We tooled around in there for a while, listening to public service announcements and warnings, and then accosted a man with a computer and a link to the local radar. He let us know that we were in a lull and that the worst was due to arrive in an hour. So, off we ran to the parking lot. Oddly enough, there were people milling about outside, people who apparently thought that lightning felt nice. Admittedly, at that point the sky was a lot lighter, but we still ran. This time I smartened up and flung Ava onto my back, which made running a lot easier. Everything was fine until we got to the car and just as Grandma unlocked it a HUGE bold of lightning struck somewhere close and then a GIANT crack of thunder opened up above us, and please forgive me everyone, especially you Jesus, but at that point I screamed “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, GET IN THE CAR NOW!” Ava, true to her nature, snapped to it and jumped in across the back seat and I wrestled Carter out of his (metal) stroller, and we both dove in to the safety of a small container with rubber wheels. Ava was again peppering me with whys and I first apologized to her for cursing and then I simply said “it is dangerous and we needed to get somewhere safe.” Frankly, I do not care how scared she is of storms. I am not sorry that I terrified the living wits out of her. I am sorry in the sense that I do not want her to be distressed, but not that she learned that the weather can be dangerous. So, we drove back to Austin, breathed a collective sigh of relief (hellllooooo cliché), watched the radar on the computer for a while and had an early dinner.
And tomorrow we return to the relative safety of regular ice-storms.
