It’s awfully quiet for a Monday at 7:45 am. All I hear is the wind and the occasional car driving on wet asphalt.
Waiting for the worst of the storm to hit is bringing back childhood memories of hunkering down in the basement when the tornado sirens went off, the crackle of the transistor radio set to WCCO AM, wanting to explore all the boxes of stuff my grandparents stored down there because I was sure they all held secret treasures … I would eventually help sort through those boxes after both my grandparents passed away; they mostly held fabric scraps.
And now I’m on the third floor of a building without a basement, refreshing three different weather websites for the latest news, and thinking about using today’s time off to start clearing away the boxes in our extra room, the room that will become the nursery, the boxes that mostly hold yarn.
