Growing up in Missouri, we had tornado sirens going off at least once a school year. We'd all practice running into the hallway, tucking up in a ball and waiting until the teacher said we could finally get back to our desks. I always liked the fire drills better since those you could at least go outside and talk to your friends. The tornado drill just made you intimately familiar with the dust bunnies down the corridor and the smell of pencil shavings that somehow permeated my uniform skirt.Chicago doesn't seem to get tornadoes. Every lay person has their theory like, "the buildings are too tall, it just can get over here" or "the lake breaks up the pressure so we'll never have a tornado in the city." I don't know what the real story is (and clearly I don't care enough to look it up) but I'm usually comforted in knowing my house won't be swept up and thrown onto a witch anytime soon.
Last week we had an incredible storm here. The tornado sirens started going off and the emergency service kicked on our TV specifically giving a shout out to Rogers Park as in the path of imminent destruction. Ryan and I ran into the basement and sat on the floor hoping we wouldn't lose our electricity. Our basement neighbor was in his apartment blissfully unaware just cooking some dinner in the microwave.
When we ventured back upstairs I sat in awe of the powerful storm. The lightning was constant and gorgeous. I was hoping to catch one of those moments when the lightning stretched across our skylight but I never caught it. I did manage to catch a bolt of lightning illuminating the building across the street in a pale blue light. I thought it was beautiful.
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