Benched

Last week we drove up one of the canyons, as far as we could, at the gate snow remained.

Friday, weird rolling clouds that seemed to promise something, but no rain.

Moby most loves to be brushed right after I've vacuumed.

Likes his bed, under the chair.

Snow up on the benches* and a new layer on the mountains. Wettest May on record, over 5", with a day to go.

*The former beaches of the historical Lake Bonneville.

Packed

I wish I could embed this. From NASA, a time lapse of the earth moving against the stars. I muted the sappy music, it doesn't need it. Immediately sent it to D, who grinned and wow'd all the way. Mesmerizing.

Raining since yesterday evening, another inch and a half. Snowing on the mountains, the exact opposite of what needs to be happening. The floods continue to threaten, the ground is sodden, reservoirs have been emptied as much as possible, debris cleared, sandbags laid, yet the deluge trembles on the edge. The rush is delayed further, which increases the risk. The shorter time for the melt, with higher temperatures, and more water, means more severe flash floods. Huge amount of potential energy awaiting a trigger.

Though

D gone to the Con this weekend, and I am enjoying the time to myself in the place by doing buggerall. Not sure why I can't seem to do anything more than this. Lacking impetus to overcome my inertia. Nothing on the dish, it being a holiday weekend - but still I tune in since it's all I seem up to.

Strange dreams, and I woke in tears. Not the ideal start to any day. Skies cloudy, letting in quite a bit of sun, but the air feels odd, unsettled.

Should have done the tao de ching interp, or a bad poem, but that would take actual thought.

Have you ever woken from a dream laughing, or crying?

Here, a much better post.

Crash

Crashed early last night, out like the proverbial light at 1930. Dreamed I was interviewing Bruce Campbell, checked the clock at 2345, otherwise, all deep, dank sleep. One long, if short, day, working with a very good scrub, if a particularly concentratedly poisonous surgeon. Still, it all worked out, eventually. And we got to start the long weekend a bit early.

I've never been one to celebrate Memorial nor Labor days. Not from a family of barbequers, not from genetics nor marriage. Just a paid day off, or a day on call. What does one do to celebrate death in war? How to have a 'happy hopeless attempts' to check the abuses of big business (only to replace it with an additional layer of bureaucracy connected to organized crime)? Worthy enough of a national day, but celebration? Hard to wrangle that around my head. Even growing up in a union town like Detroit. I believe in unions, a very important step toward worker safety and decency. I've done the army, my remains will eventually like in the veteran's section of a cemetery somewhere, and I'm fine with that. It all seems so, well, either sad or utilitarian.

Nevertheless, I will enjoy my day off, never taking for granted my lack of call shifts, or holiday coverage, for the first stretch in a very long time.

Assemblage

Blue sky, cup of tea, cat.

Jour

Big concert on campus this evening, and my surgeon du jour has tickets. Not just any concert, but a band that came through last year, and cancelled, rescheduled today. He's set up a tailgate party for his party of 20 in the parking lot ahead of time.

This surgeon is one of those guys used to having his way, and a thorn in the side of our director of anesthesia for over-scheduling, and wrangling in add-on cases, under the half true pretense of it being 'all about the patient.'

So, our anesthesiologist tells us this morning of his plot. He will tell Dr. D'jour, at the latest possible time, that his last patient drank apple juice, and has to be delayed two hours, but he's more than willing to stay to take care of this patient. He deserves an award for his acting, it went perfectly. And Dr. D'jour? "If it's going to be another two hours, I'll cancel and send her home!" Swallows it hook, line, sinker, pole and reel. On the other hand, he does take it in stride when we all break out laughing. Repeatedly.

Scrubbed in, a lot of white noise as usual, music going, I can barely hear the resident dictating notes into the phone, and it sounds so much like a monk chanting, a priest saying mass to himself I have to remind myself it is not.

Cancelled

Storms blowing through, warnings up for a while, but the intense stuff passed us by. To my disappointment and Moby's relief. Although Moby did slink off to hide under the bed once he heard thunder. Getting more now, but he's safely ensconced.

Watching way too much Burn Notice today. Part of what we love about the show, aside from the smart writing and witty dialogue, is that they cast (Miami) local actors, who are different from the Hollywood stable. Good to watch Bruce Campbell in a good role, as well.

Called off tomorrow, half the patients cancelled for an already small day. I'm not too upset, despite a lot of lost hours lately. I suspect it's mold allergies keeping me off balance and my sinuses unhappy. It'll pass.

D just informed me that Moby is back out, in his bed under the chair. Which is good.

End

It's The End of the World as We Know it (and I feel fine) is Our Song. In the circumstances of our courtship, this seemed perfectly reasonable. Reminded of it today, and it still seems apt. Unromantic, but very Us.

Keep wanting to figure out how to plot my Fortean Novel of the Post Apocalypse, still stuck. Not about to be raptured, wouldn't want to spend five minutes with those folks who think they will be, not to mention eternity. Anyone wanting more eternity than this moment has clearly not thought it through.

Crashing, rolling thunder through in the wee hours of Friday, and Moby leaning against my leg didn't stir. Extremely unusual, to the point that I strained to feel any movement, breathing. Eventually he stirred slightly, to my relief. Apparently just utterly crashed, too asleep to care even about lightening and thunder. D never heard it either. And yes, I did check noaa, to confirm that it had happened.

Strange dreams about The Queen having died, and I got an informal tour of her apartment that was under renovation. Nice place, but not an interesting view out the large windows. Turned out she was alive, and I told her my view in Boston was much better. She was doing very difficult acrostic/number crossword puzzles with Stephen Fry, in pencil, which he kept erasing. I then moved across the country to a very white room in a house, had trouble with the locks. Brought with me two to four small dogs that used to belong to the landlady, but were mine now. Woke up to Moby draped across my knees.

Went to hear Vieux Farka Touré at the Living Traditions Festival last evening. Sadly, the amplification was extreme, added to high pitched tones in the stopstopithurts zone. Outdoor free concerts are always a mixed bag. I'll stick to recordings. Still, we had a lovely walk, the rain had abated earlier in the day, and the air was mild and welcoming.

Reuben

This one is for Rouchswale.

When we were first getting to know one another, D gave me the Fry Sauce Lecture. What he considered a serious subject that I needed to understand to be with him. To this day, I'm not completely certain he was joking.

On the subject of the Reuben sandwich, I know he is not joking at all*. First of all they have to be made with rye bread, toasting is optional but preferred, especially if properly grilled. Marble rye is aesthetically pleasing, but any good rye will do. Corned beef is mandatory, as is sauerkraut†. Thousand Island dressing is the orthodox dressing, but a good spicy (Dijon) mustard or Russian dressing can suffice in a pinch. Cheese is an abomination in this context.

I'm not found of any of the ingredients, so I avoid this sandwich as D avoids beer. But I will make one for him. Properly, of course.

*As per interview with the expert in question.

†Claussen's, ideally.

Clumps

More rain. It snowed yesterday up at work, but not at the lower elevations. When I came back from lunch, and Dr. S (anesthesiologist) was staring down the hall out the window, and I followed his gaze, I broke out laughing. Snow in May, here, is pretty rare. Those huge, clumpy flakes falling thickly struck me as very funny. On the other hand, when I was a kid, I remember flurries on the first and last days of school, so first week of June, and last week of August, so I don't feel the sense of injustice and horror expressed by locals who expect perfect weather from April through September. In Boston, sleet sliding into spring territory was expected, if just as bitterly complained of.

The threat of floods from the mountain streams is delayed, and exacerbated. Less melting, more snow added, limiting the time for the liquidation, means more gush and energy, as well as more time for mitigation. Continues to be a wet, cool year. Waiting for the first week of 80-90˚F.

Dark skies and rain today.

Dusty

Moby, you have litter dust all over your face.

"What?"

"Where?"

"No, I don't."

He does this, and does not like me to wipe it off, either.

Found this on noaa.gov. Images from satellite of the tornado outbreak.

Recrystalized

Laid down and pressed hard,

Metamorphosed mud, tilted

Thrust up in strange skies.

Ligaments

Stiff neck, as we all get once in a while. I remembered once seeing a group of some kind of monk or military men, in India possibly, flinging their long black hair (dreadlocks?) around. It was beautiful and wild, and strange. My own hair was fairly long at that point, and so, of course, I tried to do the same. The next day I realized I'd given myself whiplash.

I tried to join track in high school, had to use the heavier shot, not having the proper weight being the girl's team. Did pretty well with it, but my shoulder was never the same. I believe I did a partial dislocation.

Every time I have tried to do anything athletic, I wind up in a lot of pain. I tear and stretch easily, maybe I'm too sensitive to these minor injuries, maybe I just listen to them. I've never out-and-out fractured a bone. Small evulsion fracture of my big toe, and cracked a knuckle once, nothing much. But my softer tissues injure easily, or at least scream about pain readily.

This is, I think, why my back is still an issue. The herniation is resolved, but the tendons and ligaments are still hurt, the scar tissue lights up the surrounding nerves. 'Why' matters less than, 'what can I do about it?' And some of that is down to how I'm wired up. None of this is new, it's just a variation on a lifelong pattern.

I've tried to stay strong, and I am in some ways. In others - I have no resilience at all. Part granite, part tufa.

Rub

The joy of a good belly rub.

Then nestled in to snore.

Right after a wild chase.

Evanescent

The only virtue is to find one's own way.

Never easy, hard to define clearly

But once seen, impossible to miss.

Once spotted, obvious.

It's barely perceptible, and undeniable.

However subtle, once known is utter reality.

The infinite and eternal, clear as still water.

How can I see this?

There it is.

The silly season. An obsolescent journalistic expression for the part of the year when Parliament and the Law Courts are not sitting (about August and September), when, through lack of news, the papers had to fill their columns with trivial items--such as news of giant gooseberries and sea serpents--and long correspondence on subjects of evanescent (if any) interest.

Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable 1963, p 831.

What

I've been examining my character, my weaknesses and failings.

Once in school, I was to take cupcakes to class. Helping frost them, I was trying to hold back so that I would have some frosting left for myself. My mother chided me for being stingy. She was right, of course. Still, I had no desire to be generous to children I didn't like. They could have all the cupcakes they wanted, but not all my frosting.

Most of the neighborhood children that I played with always insisted on going first, and getting the biggest piece, and I was so glad of company, I never objected. While wishing for friends who wanted me to go first, some times anyway.

I can be generous with my time, effort, things, but less so with my food, and I want anyone imposing on my generosity to come to me. Driving is a huge chore that I barely want to do for myself. Not big on being thanked, actually prefer gifts to be quickly acknowledged then quietly ignored. Finding out later it was useful is good, but hardly necessary.

I am deep down shy, and agoraphobic. I don't like large groups of people, especially if they all notice me. Putting on an act, including a brave face, takes every mental trick and a lot of effort, which I can do, but for a limited time, and not too often. Just a few people is fine, or a whole faceless crowd in which to be lost. I face these anxieties daily, and it does get easier with practice and over so many years. Does not change the sub-strata, only covers it up. No letting it rule me, but best not to stress it to breaking point.

I'm ok with not being liked. Doesn't make me a bad person, just not that likable in the middle. Pleasant in casual meetings, capable of a deep, deep love with one person, but friends in between tend to drift away after a while. Perhaps Reader Friends (that's all of you) hear the Why and the aftermath, and don't see me flubbing through a social situation, we form a different class of associations and expectations.

However uneven it may look, everyone gets something out of an exchange. Pay, or control, or a creative outlet, satisfaction or flattery, but something, always something. Best to know what you are trading with, and for what.

Once I see, I can't unsee. Not about anger or forgiveness, but when I see malice, habitual neglect, harm, in someone, I don't want them close to me. No second chances then, no going back. Probably why I have no other friends.

On the other hand, D loves me, Moby trusts me. I hold fast to them.

Going through the closets, putting away the winter clothes, bringing out the light stuff, getting rid of what we have not worn. D is off at a game meet-up, with my blessings. Needing an afternoon to myself.

Thumbs

Mud laying down, becoming stone.

This is the current orientation.

Bashed my thumb. Unable to avoid a handshake at the bank. We will be closing that account, as soon as we get everything (everything!) switched over, which will take a while.

Cat happy on sweaters from both of us. Will be going through and putting winter clothes away this weekend, if we can get them from under Moby.

"No, don't move anything."

Maximum

I failed. When I called back the center staff, instead of being put back on a list and given some time, I was forgiven and immediately offered another position - that also deviated from most of my stated preferences. Unfortunately, I reflexively, if reluctantly, tried to be reasonable and accommodating. And the staffer, even realizing I was upset, did not tell me what I should have been telling myself. Think about it, consider overnight, or another week. And in the middle of the night, the remorse set in. I finally got up at 0430, the email already written in my head, saying that I could not keep my commitment, but at least I was not going to start, and then flake out.

I wanted to do this, I really thought I could, and they would be able to accommodate my limitations and tight schedule. I thought they would make sure it was a good fit, for the sake of the students as well as me. Now I don't think I can trust them at all. And I feel terrible.

And irritated with them that I was put in the position of having to say "no" so many times. Why give out a form for what kind of class and availability, if they are not going to abide by it? And if it looks too restrictive, simply telling the volunteer that they don't have a place for them? Instead of making me confront them?

Twice?

And in this town, not clearly labeling a class setting as belonging to the Dominant Church Here is just asking for trouble from half the population. Whereas the other half would be attracted by that information. So, to avoid it is disingenuous at best.

I will return the bag and the book. Don't want it staring at me. I will not volunteer for anything again. If it's worth doing, it's going to be worth getting paid for, or that I enjoy doing without a group intercession.

But this is my failure, my momentary blindness to my own capabilities and time and unwillingness to drive. Tutoring was frightening enough, and any compromise on anything else I should have stood firm on. Of course, I wasn't asked, it was simply presented. I could hear the irritation as I expressed reserve about working with a pre-literate student to start with, "This is very typical of our clients..." And in the middle of the night, I knew that what I should have said was, yes, but I'm not your typical volunteer. I'm not a student, unemployed or a retiree with more time than I knew what to do with. What I would write to her is that I always knew I would be limited and marginal, and I'd come to realize that my maximum was never going to meet her minimum.

But education is never wasted. I may yet use this training. I won't forget.

Sucks, though. But, a woman's just got to know her limitations. I'm just not that generous.

Ultimate

The signs were not good. I got an email about the tutoring, did not recognize the name, and she did not introduce herself further. Merely asked if I could teach a different day than I have available. I had to reply that, no, I could not change my work schedule. Then I find out it's for a class of about five, which was what I asked not to be put into.

Another email over the weekend with the rigid class and lesson schedule with specified word lists. Um, well, this is uncomfortable, since I'd gotten the impression in the training that we would be working on that with the individual, developing a focused set of goals for them, not using a set curriculum and a workbook*. But I decide to hear her out. I am to go out there today, and yesterday afternoon, I get an email telling me that I am to teach not one, but TWO classes (not asked, mind.) I wrote back with my increasing concerns, and she backpedals - apparently, and I agree to come out and talk with her.

The where is a big issue. It's far out to the west, an industrial area, a considerable drive for me (who prefers never to leave the downtown area, or at least the east side.) And this preference, along with my schedule and number of learners, is on her sheet on me. Anyway, I get there, and realize that the Humanitarian Center is not next to the Dominant Church Here, it is part of it's industrial complex. It is the DCH Humanitarian Center. With all the Inspirational pictures every ten feet along the walls. And the 'students' work in the thrift store warehouse and take classes. I have a deep moral distaste for the DCH mission, and the destruction of local clothing economies due to the availability of cheap second hand clothing. Among other issues. She took me to a class to see for myself, and the teacher is an older woman on a DCH mission.

Turns out the woman I am meeting is my mentor, which I have to pull out of her. She was at the training - but never identified herself as such in the emails. She is not herself a native English speaker - which complicates the issue. I expect not to be able to readily communicate with the students, but I need to clearly communicate with my mentor. She does not in any way acknowledge my discomfort, and I have to keep telling her that no, this is not going to work. I'm doing my damnedest to stay polite, but no does in fact, mean no. And she is not asking me questions, so I have to keep confronting. She goes over my preference sheet as though I had no idea what I was writing there.

I finally get through to her that while I understand there is a need here, she needs someone who is going to want to be here, and not be miserable for six months. It was all I could do not to just say, "Oh, well, just use missionaries for this." It takes a while, but I do have a very strong metaphorical spine, and will not be guilted into the wrong placement for me. If I want to crawl out of my skin the whole time, I can't do anyone any good. I did not say that part out loud. And the tutoring is, despite some half hearted assurances that she wants the teachers to be creative, very much a part of a whole class system, and is not amenable to creative interpretation and individual needs. Rather like the DCH.

I'm calming down. Taking D out for his yesterday birthday today. He is at the age of the Ultimate Answer. We did get to the Red Iguana last night, and they had pistachio mole, which was wonderfully special.

*With the awful drawings.

Hesitant

Slowly moving clouds,

Spring flirts, waits another day.

Hesitating rain.

I look at the mountains differently now, as though I'd seen them naked. I feel their age, imagine their journey, gape - awed at their history. Funny bit, though, was watching a raptor high above, seemed just as timeless.

Long ago, in a different life, I often hiked through these canyons. I haven't missed it, really. Feel I had my turn, and that was fair and enough. Now, I want to see it all again, with wiser eyes. It's alright, just have to remember.

As the rocks remember being mudflats on the edge of an ancient ocean.

Xenoliths

Happy as a geologist amid granitic outcropping. Our instructor, Michael Hylland who made it all interesting and clear. As much as anything as complicated as practical geology can be made clear.

All of these enlarge nicely, but you know how to do that.

Apparently, we have a very interesting geologic history. Originally, we were on the coast, and facing a different direction, and at a much warmer latitude. Mudflats and a shallow marine environment, which got scrunched up, sedimented, pressured and overlain with immense weight, lava flooded, iced, water flooded again and again, glaciated, and remains the longest, active normal fault.

So,above, moraines, that have scarps and grabins, with a background of pre-cambrian bedrock exposed and lifted up into the air.

Xenoliths. For those rocks from somewhere else. Glaciers usually, and in this case.

And lichen starting the process all over, turning the boulder into debris, and eventually sediment.

Lovely day for it. Warm and clear. More photos over the next few days, with my nascent understanding.

D enjoyed himself as well, but is far more burnt. A little late, we went out and got him a more shading hat, for the next time we might be out walking or standing in bright sun for hours. He doesn't think he looks good in hats, but I think he looks fine in the new one, or the baseball caps he usually sports.

Soles

Give up trying to be clever. Finding the trick to everything, such a source of trouble.

What is the difference between this and that?

Why do we call one thing "good" and another "evil?"

I am not bound to be swept up in everyone else's fears.

It seems everyone around me is happy, enjoying the party, talking about the food.

They go out and run marathons and hike mountains.

And I seem to just drift with the river, oblivious to what moves them so.

I am raw and new, with no idea why they try so hard, and smile so much.

I am alone, and don't know what a home is.

Everyone keeps getting more things, and I keep nothing.

I am baffled and I ponder so much that they all ignore.

They glitter and dazzle,

And I sit in grey and blue, knowing how little I understand.

I drift where the waves take me

No goal in my mind, like the ceaseless wind.

Everyone else is aiming at a number to accomplish,

I am alone, solemn and with nothing to do.

I'm the oddball,

My mind on the whole universe.

Bowing (bou' ing). We uncover the head when we wish to salute anyone with respect; but the Jews, Turks, Siamese, etc., uncover their feet. The reason is this: With us the chief act of investure* is crowning or placing a cap on he head; but in the East it is putting on the slippers.

Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 1963 p 136.

*I'm guessing this means investiture. It all seems a bit wonky to me, possibly dangerously outdated. Certainly in a lot of cultures, to show the soles of one's feet is an insult.

Cranial

The best part about a delayed spring, is how utterly welcome it is.


See the bald spots on the backs of his legs?


"Don't show them that. Sheesh."



~munch ~ munch~


The massage school next door has specials every month. For the last three months, I've taken advantage of these offers, since typical, swedish style, seems to irritate my pain more than help. It's a close run thing, really. So, I'm exploring the different modes as the massage students work their way through the curriculum. Hot stone did help, the foot and hand massage was relaxing, but otherwise neutral, the cranio-sacral also seems to have actually done good. It was strange, like acupuncture. At the time, as though it wasn't doing much, but then I'd get a wave of pain or sensation, and ease. Extremely relaxing, and - pudding* as proof, my back feels better than it has all month.

It was the sitting six hours for the literacy class that triggered it. I just don't sit that long in a day at work. I'm standing at the desk charting, or waiting to be asked for an item, or I'm running about. Even when I scrub in on hand surgeries, and I sit on a stool, most of those cases last far less than an hour, and the long ones rarely go more than two. A carpal tunnel release or a trigger finger release can run ten minutes, total, plus MAFAT†.

Moby is not like this. When we need him to come in, he usually does, as long as we ask politely. Like when we moved here, and he'd been hiding far under the sofa as we loaded the car. It was time to leave the old place, and bring the cat with us, I got down and said "Come on, Moby, it's time to go." And he crawled right out to me, as if in answer, "Yeah, yeah don't leave without me." It's much the same when he's out on the balcony and we need to leave.
"Come on in, Moby, we have to go."
"Oh, sure, you betcha."

There have been a couple of times when we've needed to be more emphatic, and pick him up, much to his annoyance. He huffs at us, and wanders off to find a no-doubt-better place. But that's just to remind us that he may be a cooperative soul, but he is still a Cat.


Rouchswalwe, check out the Moving Rant tag, you may find echoes of your own recent move.


*Butterscotch flavor.
†Mandatory Anesthesia Fuck Around Time.

Skin

Being home. Never felt at home in my original house, never safe, never at ease. In my first apartment, I was home, but achingly lonely. Having a roommate in college apartments was always unsettling. The bad marriage felt more like a home I didn't know how to define - at first. It became worse than any lack of home, it became an anti-home, dangerous, hostile.

I was teased in Basic for referring to the barracks as "home." But, that was where my stuff was, even though it was mostly not my chosen stuff - all green and issued. But a good wool blanket, a toilet and shower - close enough to being home. I had very low standards. A safe place to sleep, warmth.

Once I met D, I began to know what home could mean. Peace at home. The whole time we were away*, I found acceptance and safety in his arms, needing no other home. Together, we would live in numerous apartments, and although I felt displaced, I never felt homeless.

I remember when we got off the train in Boston, and could not find my cousins who had promised to pick us up. I broke down and wept in exasperated exhaustion for a minute, pulled myself together, and we talked about what else we could do. (Turned out, we'd just picked a bad door, and found Elizabeth and Ed a few minutes later.) Desperate, yes, alone, no. I'd brought home with me, and there we were.

I can see that it would be more difficult to find home in one's own skin alone, but I can also see a way. Where one is one's own home, and others visit, come and go. And the home inside myself has grown as well as the one I share with D. I always prefer him near, but I think my home is myself, and he is part of it, but not all of it. We are a home together, we are each of us capable of being a home unto ourselves. With a cat, of course.


The geology class is excellent. I am finally really understanding the science. I think I finally get the idea of metamorphic rock. Not metamorphorical rock (like Pratchett Trolls.) It's wonderful to be taught by someone knowledgeable and passionate. Learning about a foot wall vs a hanging wall, gneiss and schist.





*Activated to army service for Gulf War I.

Cupcake

No comment.

Never been a big fan of cupcakes at any time. Too much cake, not enough frosting, and it's hard to eat the cake first and leave the frosting until last. Besides - losing my taste for a lot of frosting as I get older. So I'm left with nothing at all to like.

Hours very short this week. I refuse to worry. Not about that, anyway. Class this evening, course plotted. Bright sunny day, and not just a winter sun that's just for show. This sun has a bit of heat to it, warms the shoulders, promises more to come. Tulips everywhere.

Out

Moby, do you want to go out?

"Meh, whatever."




"Yes of course, open the door."


"Oh, sun, good, finally."


"This grass is very dry."



"But this is acceptable."




Moby has some bald spots on the backs of his legs. We don't know why, but they are becoming more pronounced. It's certainly not because he lays on rough concrete all day. More like bed, sofa, blankets, robes, sheepskin, polartech. We presume it's just that he's getting cat-pattern baldness.


Some links today, but start at Neatorama, I stole them all from there.

The cake, a work of art in sugar.

The virtues of non-theism. None of which surprizes me, obviously.

And you may want to stay in your car if you are facing a tornado and there isn't a sturdy building very close by. No good link, so, just the citation here.


Tornado Safety - Cars Vs. Ditches: A Controversy. Dr. Greg Forbes from The Weather Channel takes a look at a growing debate: is it safer for commuters to ride out a tornado in their cars (with all the built-in safety equipment) or go into a nearby ditch: "About two weeks ago I came back to work after a rare day off and found a letter on my desk from the American Red Cross. It indicated that their organization was changing some of their tornado safety rules. Some of those changes are at odds with safety rules advocated by the National Weather Service (NWS), and that has created a controversy! Click here for the new American Red Cross tornado safety rules. Click here for the NWS tornado safety rules , found within this brochure. Part of the basis for the change in American Red Cross policy was studies by researcher Tom Schmidlin, who found that a relatively small percentage of vehicles are overturned, tossed, and demolished in tornadoes. The NWS recommends that if you are being overtaken in your car by a tornado, then you should get out of the car and into a nearby building or ditch. The new American Red Cross recommendation is that if no building is available, stay in the car - get out of the car and into a ditch only as a last resort. Crouch down with your seat belt on and your head below the windshield level.

What are the pros and cons? Here is a partial list.

Hazards of getting out of the car and into a ditch:
flying and tumbling debris may land on you, possibly even your vehicle
heavy rain may fill the ditch and threaten drowning, particularly if you are pinned down by debris
you may be pummeled by hail
you are at risk from lightning

No snow today. Should be more like spring this week to come. Now, just flooding to watch for.