Time To Lose The Pearls
The wind got up and the clouds formed. As I was cooking dinner JB had a beer and began sharing his weather forecast.
I can now do my own forecast based on the cloud formations, thanks to Dr. Biology. Before we studied meteorology last semester, I relied on the aching in my left shoulder or the soreness in my wrists to inform me of changing weather patterns.
But after living smack dab in the middle of tornado alley in West Texas for a hundred years, a tornado watch doesn't get me very excited. I've had my fair share of inclement weather.
There was a time that a tornado watch or warning meant being prepared--gathering the kids, pillows, and battery operated radio--and heading for the innermost room of the house. That would be the bathroom.
We'd make a party of it. While they gathered their books and a favorite toy or two, I'd grab a flashlight and the battery-operated radio. By the time they had climbed into the bathtub amidst a pile of pillows and blankets, I'd have pored myself a glass of wine and donned my pearls.
I always figured if I was going out, I was going out wearing my pearls. And the wine? It certainly couldn't hurt.
I've shared this tale more than a few times, much to the amusement of family and friends. And last night, when JB suggested it was an evening for wine and pearls, I suddenly looked at the entire scenario with new eyes.
The pearls are still there where I left them. They're taking a breather--a deserved rest-- in a red velvet box with a white satin lining.
I'm just glad I don't need them anymore.
