THE MAELSTROM OF THE MOMENT

It is Sunday, May 28, of the Memorial Day weekend. The

weather forecast was for partly cloudy, with a 60% chance of

thunderstorms and a high of 101. Typical. But, May was a different

month from the others. It was no surprise that the air was sultry,

so heavy that you could slice it with a knife.

You leave your workplace late and stop at the local grocery

store to pick up a Sunday newspaper. As you drive the additional

mile home, you turn your head briefly to your right, looking

through the window to the North. You think to yourself that

thunderstorms are just not going to happen. After all, weather

forecasts are only best guesses.

But wait! What is that in the distance? Is that a funnel on the

ground? The people along your route are paying it no attention.

The sirens are not going off to warn the public. You have never

seen a tornado.

No. It can’t be.

You arrive home. You check the newspaper for the television

schedule. It’s not there! Back you go to the grocery store. The

funnel cloud, or tornado, is still in the distance. You trade out your

newspaper for one with a television schedule.

You drive once again back to the house.

The funnel cloud is still there, and still on the ground.

No sirens. No one noticing. It is as if you are seeing a mirage.

Now you are convinced it truly is a tornado.

You press your foot a bit harder on the gas pedal.

Still, no sirens.

You are just one street away from your house when all hell

breaks loose. A maelstrom has descended from above! Dirt, dust

and all sorts of debris become airborne instantly. A tree snaps, it’s

top half landing on top of your pick-up truck. You feel your truck

lift up off the road surface for a few seconds, but the tree blocks

any escalating elevation.

Maelstrom: a large and violent whirlpool.

Upon returning to earth, your panic causes your foot to press

down hard on the gas pedal. This allows the truck to free itself

from the grip of the tree. With zero visibility the truck careens

across the intersection. You immediately press hard on the brake.

The truck comes to a stop in a neighbor’s front yard.

Quickly, you swing open the door, step out onto a large fish

and then make a mad dash for the house.

The chaos is now really beginning as you witness this event

from the front porch.

Your spouse was just woken up from a nap upon hearing the

unraveling madness. You both stand on the front porch of the

house. You both wonder where this moment is going. Where is it

leading us?

There was no rain, no thunder, no lightning.

No thunderstorm.

There was hail.

Hail, HAil, HAIl, HAIL!

The marble-sized hail fell for two minutes. The green ground

in this West Texas town turned clear, no more green to be seen.

The hail grows larger, now the size of mothballs, and increases to

the size of ping-pong balls. The parade, of sorts, continues on to

golf balls.

It's time to get nervous!

The barrage has continued for almost ten minutes. Surely, it

will stop soon.

Surely?

An ice rock hits the new car. Oh, no, a big dent.

The landscape is now becoming white.

The ice stones are now the size of a lime!

Not good. Starting to panic . . .

‘There’s goes your windshield hun . . . “

“Oh no!” you say.

“Insurance will total-out the car, so try to calm down.”

You love your car.

“I don’t want to bury my good friend. I love my Honda

Element!”

The hailstones grow bigger. Now the size of a baseball, glass

broke and shattered  left and right.

“My car has no more windows left!” You scream.

Your spouse is panicking and is also doing a good job of displaying a “calm.”

Then, the finale. Hopefully? How much longer can this go on?

You watch as the ice falling out of the sky is the size of grapefruits.

Any surviving windows have little chance. There will be very few

survivors. Windows, that is.

The windows of the house go in random order.

“There goes the kitchen window.”

“Oh, no. The picture window is done!”

This goes on for one more minute, although it seems much longer.

Suddenly, it stops.

It started at about 5:15 p.m. You look at your watch. It is now

5:35.

From spring back to winter in just a few minutes. There are

no leaves on the trees. All the colors of Spring are gone.

Strangely, when it occurs almost instantly, the landscape

seems to transform into a moonscape.

Mental anguish transcends to psychological anguish.

Going forward.

Going forward-phobia . . .

You both walk through the house to survey the damage. You

pick up the upstairs telephone.

“Honey,” you say with surprise. “This phone is working!”

Everything is eerily quiet. When you do hear something, it’s

unusually loud. There is no electricity, and yet for some strange

reason, your house still has a functioning telephone. You mention

this to your neighbor. He only stares at you, questioning.

“Can I use your telephone?” he asks.

“Sure, but it’s only the telephone on the second floor that is

working,” you reply.

You walk for a few minutes to the downtown’s small river.

Most of the windows are missing on both buildings and cars. So

many trees are broken and laying on the ground and blocking the

streets. As you walk along the river, the various river rodents sit or

lay as if hypnotized. They are traumatized, and they don’t move.

You never realized just how big a nutria is until you see one out of

the water and on solid ground!

Upon returning to your home there are strange people in the

front yard.

“May we take turns to use your telephone?” she asks. “It is the

only one.”

You nod, and reply, “Why, of course.”

A line forms.

You didn’t plan to meet many people today. You hadn’t

planned to be without electricity for maybe a week. You must get

back inside the house before dark to check for flashlights,

batteries and candles.

You don’t look forward to the hot three-digit temperatures of

West Texas as June gets underway without air conditioning.

You know that the year now ahead of you will be very

different. You can only imagine some things, but there will be

many other things as well.

You have learned a hard lesson, though. The next time you

see a funnel in the distance, don’t assume it’s the only one.

Sometimes, the warning sirens may not sound! Sometimes, . . .