One of the new features I’ve found of living in the south is the possibility of tornados. Before conjuring up apocalyptic visions of Hollywood-inspired twisters, realize that the death toll from these storms over the last fifty years can be counted on one hand. That said, while working away this morning I heard a strange wailing noise through the sound of rain falling on the roof. I went out to my porch and discovered it was indeed a wailing siren.

Having just read a book about WWII, my first instinct was to check the skies for an approaching airstrike, and then I came to my senses and fired up Google. The nuclear power plant nearby seemed ship shape, and a visit to a weather site confirmed that a tornado had been sited and is headed my way. The best advice I found said to put on a helmet and hide in an interior room, making the fact that Meghan and I have no disaster plan, or way to find each other should I end up chasing a wizard in a land called Oz all too apparent.

Now that the sirens have stopped I feel safe returning my motorcycle helmet to the garage, but definitely will work on a slightly more effective plan for future siren soundings!

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