We had some really good thunderstorms rumble through our neighborhood this morning. I knew they were coming – I’d flipped on the Weather Channel while crunching down my bowl of Special K and saw an ugly red and green line trooping through my state on its way to my little corner of it – and Husband went across the street to warn the men working on our neighbors’ roof that they may want to consider taking a break in about an hour or so.
They are grateful he did.
The storm started much like they all do; the air got thick, the light turned an alarming steel-grey color, and rumbling could be heard in the distance. Then the distance wasn’t so distant anymore. I was in the midst of an IM conversation with Kizz about how sad I am that Vanx won’t be blogging anymore when a lightning strike hit my yard. I felt (and tasted – weird) the thing and the light and sound were coincidental and instantaneous. I jumped and gasped, the girls – who were sitting beside me on the couch – both screamed.
I managed to recover the situation (and not allow a fear of thunderstorms to take hold in my girls) by jumping up and clapping. I was geninely excited, so it wasn’t artificial attempt to soothe the girls and they knew it. I reminded them that we were all safe – then opened the garage door to let all the cats in to show them that THEY were all safe. Of course, this abruptly ended my conversation with Kizz as my entire house – and, I’m betting, my entire neighborhood – were quite without power.
It turns out that the lightning did not strike in my actual yard, but it did hit the pole that delivers power to my actual house. Observe:
See those two top wires? Both of them lead directly into my house.
Yikes.
