When it rains it pours… and I mean it.
First of all, rain has poured here for days and there is much flooding. A friend of mine posted a photo of her horse ranch being socked in by flooding. First time—ever, she said.. So much so that they cannot get out of their long driveway. She wasn’t sure Cowgirl (rescued doggy) would find a place to do her business, in the flooded yard.
I had a harrowing night two nights ago. Rain poured, THEN it stormed. The wind howled. The winds were fierce. Water thrashed against my house, then…water started dripping from my fake ceiling beams in my bedroom. Whaaaat? There was nothing I could do but wait it out—oh and put a drip pan on the floor. At least it didn't pour. The shingles on my house are relatively new so I’m not sure what happened. It’s probably that one vulnerable area at the end of the house. It hasn’t happened since.
Then I went out to the screened in breezeway to see if Kitty Kiki was doing ok in the garage next to it. I heard a crash. With the lightning showing the way, I saw that the table on the deck, with umbrella, had been tossed halfway off the deck. The next morning, one leg on the table was broken off and the center of the table was ripped from the pressure of the umbrella thrashing about, I guess. It was an old patio table (hoping to reuse it) that I had repainted a wonderful light green to use with a new umbrella and new chairs. Oh well, first world problems as Dr. Daughter says.
When I saw that a man had escaped a jail (or something) in Arkansas, I wasn’t worried because who in the world would head to Missouri to escape? Apparently he did. With ties to our area, he and his girlfriend stole a pickup (I think). They were believed to be near or in my town, around the Niangua River and in Long Lane. It’s not that easy to hide in my county because...everybody knows you. Everyone is
Next week I’m back to work full time. I’m a little depressed about returning to work after a month and a half off. I know, I know, how sad that I don’t get much of a vacation. J Perhaps if I were the love child of Stephen King and say J.K. Rowling, my writing would be in demand. Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Speaking of writing, I'm working on a short story for a contest. Its title is The House in the Middle of the Field. And I'm beta reading one of Hart Johnson's books. It's a cool story and making me a bit paranoid. A sign of great writing.
Is anyone else raining and pouring or snoring? Whose love child would you like to be? Who (reading this) would not want to be on a full-time vacation?