Wearing of the Green Skies

Mikie Baker

Sometimes you can pack just too much excitement into a day. Take this St. Patrick’s Day for example. Not only was it corned beef and cabbage time, but Spring Break kicked in plus we had out of town guests with their dog in tow. And then, of course, we had the tornado.

It all started out fine. The Teenage Eating Machine was in monster brat Spring Break mode with Best Medina Buddy attached to his hip. Then there were the house guests; Chicken Sister George (she collects chickens) and her granddaughter My Little Eva (I’ve called her that since she was born) and their seven pound lap dog named Lily, whose breed was snicker doodle poodle (or something like that). Heck, the house would have been full with just the two teenage boys.

You know how it is when you have house guests coming. You clean up your entire abode perfectly so it looks like an issue of Better Homes and Gardens. I even spent a whole day cleaning out the garage. What I should have done was clean out the closets.
Once the car was unloaded and my clean house was trashed, the kids headed out to the fort and trampoline to “hang.” We sane adults decided to “sit” on the front porch with our beverages of choice and enjoy the lovely evening. Of course, Dearly Demented Mom was firmly planted in the living room enthralled with another lively re-run of Murder She Wrote. The corned beef and cabbage was simmering on the stove.

Suddenly the wind picked up. Lighting flashed and thunder roared. The skies turned a not-so-St. Patrick’s Day shade of green. Then I noticed the cable had gone off in the living room and I knew we were about to get a big storm. I headed around the porch to tell the kids to hit the house pronto because it looked like all hell was about to break loose. Best Medina Buddy piped up and agreed.

“It sure is. Haven’t you heard the tornado sirens?” Just about that time, I heard them wailing.

As we kicked into alarm mode, we resembled a bunch of leprechauns dancing a jig. As the television was no longer working, I grabbed the weather radio, miraculously found three new AA batteries and slammed ‘em in only to hear that a tornado was bearing down on us.

We gathered in the middle of the living room to come up with an emergency plan. The plan was for the three kids to head to the bathroom with lots of pillows. You know it had to be a real emergency. How else would two adult women let two 14-year-old boys alone with a 14-year-old girl in a room with lots of pillows? We might have sent them to the hall closet but, like I said, I spent my time cleaning out the garage, not the closets.
They sprang into action. On our end, I decided the best thing to do was just wheel Dearly Demented Mom face first into my closet which, trust me, looked like a twister had already landed in there. Chicken Sister George hopped in over DDM to entertain her while I ran back and forth frantically listening to the warnings, checking on the kids and making sure all animals - including the latest addition to the ranch - were accounted for. Suddenly, thoughts turned to scalding water so I turned off all the pots simmering on the stove.

About this time DDM decided to tell Chicken Sister George about the seven foot tall man who was here the last time we had a tornado. (Note: this never happened.) CSG yelled, “DDM’s going nuts in here. Bring corned beef for her and wine for me.” When I delivered said items they both thanked me and then remarked on how I really did need to clean out my closet.

Suddenly the TV came back on and the panic driven weather witch announced that the tornado had just missed us, but was headed north so those people needed to head to their dirty closets.

We all either crawled or wheel-chaired our way out of said hiding spots and gathered back in the living room. Weakly, I smiled and asked if everyone would like some nice corned beef and cabbage. Other than DDM, who seemed rather oblivious to the whole thing, I heard a resounding “No!” Seems when your adrenalin gets going, you’re no longer hungry.

We only had one minor injury during the evening. When I was frantically wheeling DDM into the messy closet, at the exact same moment, the Teenage Eating Machine was calling our dog that was hiding under the dining room table. (Smart dog.) Anyway, DDM and the dog crashed and DDM ended up with a bump the size of a golf ball on her leg. I slapped ice on it and put a full plate of food in front of her and she was a happy camper.

The Teenage Eating Machine pronounced the whole event “Intense” and Chicken Sister George wanted to know if we had lots of tornados here. I assured her that this was very rare. To which she replied, “So what happened to your closet?”

I now understand what spring cleaning really means. It means to straighten up those closets because you never know when your house guests just might need to stay there.

So here’s your hope for the week. I hope you survived St. Patrick’s Day with no injuries. Hopefully, whatever you went through was a great bonding experience for your family. And here’s hoping when I finally do clean out my closet, I’ll find a big pot of gold.