I promise you, this is not the next great plague to descend on the world! That has to be good news at least? Right?
Eric left this morning to chase storms. He might be back Sunday. Or Tuesday. Or whenever.
Chasing storms is Eric's hobby and dare I say, passion. If you've ever been in our basement, you will see the myriad of photographs he has framed down there of storms, and most especially, tornadoes.
I know I can't compete with Dorothy in the month of May, and I don't try. I know I get him back the rest of the year, when she's left lonely in Kansas (or Nebraska. or Oklahoma. Or Texas.) She might have rotation and helicity, but he put a ring on THIS.
(Is it bad to laugh at my own bad jokes? Because that last bit is cracking me up.)
This year, storm chasing looks a little different, due to the global pandemic, and our commitment to be healthy, stay safe, not expose ourselves to disease nor infect others on the chance we are asymptomatic carriers. We often fail, but in this we can at least try to be decent humans.
But Eric loves storms.
He built a bed in the back of his Subaru.
We packed him off with 14 sandwiches in our Yeti-style marine cooler, gallons of water, some Lunchables, Swedish Fish, barbeque chips, a pillow and a blanket for a self-supported chase.
He won't be staying in hotels or eating in restaurants. Our dear friends in Oklahoma invited him to stay, but he turned them down so as to not leave anything he might have picked up pumping gas behind (they also have two adorable and wonderful small boys, and he would never forgive himself if he put them in harm's way, as much as it pains him not to see our friends.)
We may need to burn the interior of the car when he returns.
Most certainly, I will have to hose him off in the yard. I love the man, but he smells a bit like Limburger after one night of sleep - and he could be gone as many as 10. He brought underwear and socks for that many days.
If you see a bonfire at our house... just keep moving. We have it under control.