Notes On Fleeing . . .

One lovely, balmy Texas day a couple of years ago the wind began to blow.

Clouds rolled in.

The sky turned a lovely shade of peach, with chartreuse edging.

And then we noticed that the wind was blowing, strongly, in two different directions.

Directly over our house.

We didn’t stop, or think.

We threw The Boy in the car, gathered up the cats, and left.

The dog, who normally had to be dragged into a vehicle, was waiting at the car and was the first one in.

No clothes.

No computers, or other toys.

No pictures, scrap books, or even food.

We left.

Fast.

The tornado didn’t actually form and touch down until it had moved northeast of us, but we never stopped to find out.

I always had a list of things I would take if we ever had to run, and I didn’t stop for a single thing on that list.

Nothing matters when your lives may be on the line, and I wish all the people who want to criticize the evacuees for their level of planning would shut up.