Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Oh No, Don't Let the Rain Come Down

This evening a thunder boomer blew in to Dahlonega, a rowdy one carrying copious rain. I opened the sliding glass door and the living room window to settle in and enjoy the storm. Within minutes, rain blew in both openings, so I scrambled to shut them.

I sat down to Facebook, on my unplugged laptop, and had just typed 'We're having a glorious' when my cell phone rang. It was roomie, on his way home from work. As we discussed the ferocity of the storm, I stood in the living room looking out the sliding glass door.

Suddenly, there was a crack and a boom, and a tree fell across the deck right in front of me. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, wind lashed the trees and torrential rain fell from the sky. The crown of a white oak lay across my deck, while water poured where the gutter had been ripped from the house.

In the middle of freaking out just a tiny bit, I hung up and realized that Bugsy was out there in that maelstrom. I opened the door to call him, then slammed it shut against the rain. Running to the basement, I threw open the door that is sheltered by the deck above. I heard the franticity in my voice as it competed with the storm. No Bugsy.

To make matters worse, cherry-sized hail began falling. My poor little one.

I ran back upstairs and saw his tail flash in the corner of the slider, then was gone. He wasn't at the front door so I raced back to the basement, where I'd left the door open a few inches. No Bugsy. I called and he shot out from under the car, soaked to the skin and frightened to the core. He ran in and up the stairs, but stopped and cowered about three steps from the top. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him like a body turban, drying him and comforting us both .

Just then, Randy came in, almost as soaked as Bugsy. He went in his bedroom and water was pouring from his ceiling fan and from the middle of his closet door. In the insanity, it hadn't occurred to me to check there for damage. But damaged it was. We called Pat, our landlord, to give him an update. Around 9:00 p.m., Pat's son-in-law, Daniel, came by to look in the attic. And, boy oh boy. We have several holes in the roof. That oak tree did quite a number.

It's hours later and still raining. So far, there's just a round wet spot on the kitchen ceiling, no break through. And the dripping seems to have stopped in Randy's bedroom. For now. I sincerely hope the insurance company gets here first thing in the morning so they can get it patched, and fixed quickly.

Remember me blogging a couple of months ago about them cutting all those trees around our house? Pat had asked them to take this oak down, but they didn't. It turns out the darn thing was hollow inside. What I thought was lightning and thunder, was the tree cracking and slamming in to the roof. If they'd taken it down then, this wouldn't have happened. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

It was quite an exciting evening, one that will not soon be forgotten. Certainly not by Bugsy, who got a much-needed bath. He's all soft and curled up in the chair beside me, waiting patiently for me to go to bed. We're all safe. And that's a good thing. Now it's late. And way past my bed time.

1 comment:

Lilah Pierce said...

I'm not actually here. I'm just dropping off the new address for my site. Its thoughtsbylilahpierce.blogspot.com

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