Palms to the Glass

A flash of lightning catches my eye.  As I look up from my book, I realize the room has grown dark in the middle of the day.  Dark enough that I have to turn the lights on.

I open the deck door and step outside.  Warm, wet air wraps around me, takes my breath away.  I glance up to the sky to see which direction the storm is coming from.  Dark clouds are gathering to the west, moving quickly towards me.

Back in the house, I turn on my computer and check email.  Sure enough, there’s a pile of emergency weather notices.  Severe Thunderstorm Warning. Flash Flood Warning.  Tornado Warning.

Tornado Warning!

The room grows darker and lightning flashes come faster and closer together.  Dave comes upstairs and I tell him we’ve got a tornado warning.  We start gathering candles, setting them in the various rooms and lighting them.  We make sure my flashlight is where it’s supposed to be.  If we lose power at night, I can’t see to lipread.  There’s a flashlight that we always keep in the same place, so I know where to go to find it in the dark.

We have thunderstorms throughout the afternoon and into the evening.  Tornado warnings are flashing constantly across the TV.  Our power flickers on and off numerous times, at one point staying off for about 5 minutes.  Luckily it returns and then stays on.  At this point my computer is off; we are watching TV and trying to decide if we should go downstairs or not.  We decide to stay upstairs for the time being.

Thinking out loud, I mention that if I were alone in the house, at night, and the power goes off, I would have no way of knowing how bad the storm was or that there was a tornado warning.  The village siren is going off but of course I don’t hear it.  If we have no power, I won’t get the warnings via email or the TV.  I can’t even look outside to really know how bad things are because it’s dark and hard to see – dark storm clouds just look like nighttime sky.  I can’t hear that telltale train sound that an imminent tornado is supposed to sound like, or even hear the wind picking up in speed and force.  I think I’m going to sign up for alerts to my cell phone.  Then I can turn it on and keep it with me during storms, just in case.

Whenever there’s thunder, Dave will mimic it for me to let me know.  I can’t tell unless it’s the earth-shattering kind that makes the floors and walls shake.  Then he gets an idea.  He opens the front door, and I assume he’s doing it so we can watch the storm together.  Instead, he takes my hand and lays my palm flat against the glass of the screen door.  I’m shocked into silence.  The glass is vibrating, alive underneath my hand.  I can feel every nuance of thunder, feel that it’s coming bam bam bam, one thunderclap after another.  Dave lays his hand next to me, smiles, nods.  Then we both stand there for about 10 minutes, palms to the glass, eyes to the heavens, feeling the storm course through our bodies.

Advertisements

About wendiwendy

This was my original info in 2008: I'm a newly-deafened adult. I'm still getting used to the sudden silence, and I want to talk in the only manner where I can still hear my voice...in print. Now: I'm a bionic woman and I can hear myself roar!!

Posted on August 6, 2008, in Observations and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Wendi, I enjoyed this post very much! You have a gift for writing! I will have to try this “palms to the glass” next time we have a storm. Your activation day will be coming up soon. I’m glad you are feeling like you are getting back to normal after your surgery.

    Like

  2. Fantastic writing. I felt like I was there, feeling the vibrations, seeing the flickering, the warm, wet air outside…

    Each day gets closer and closer to activation day. I was reading something somewhere and it said that it could take up to six months for the nerves to grow back into the ear so I guess it’ll be numb for a good few months yet. Sigh. Oh, well. It’ll be worth it.

    Like

  3. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve done this! Your post really made me smile! I first discovered this by accident three years ago. Even though I’m “hearing again” through the miracle of a cochlear implant, I still choose to turn my CI off to “feel the glass”. (The phrase my family and I coined… which is funny because I’m not actually FEELING the glass) My assistance dog is a copycat… erm… copydog. She’ll stand at our picture window with her nose to the glass watching the storm with me. She’ll raise her eyebrows when she first hears it, and seconds later we both feel it. A great kinesthetic way to experience a storm!

    Like

  4. Beautiful post. I love thunderstorms and will sit on my porch to watch them. I never knew to “touch the glass.” Will have to try that sometime! Love your writing. . . thank you for sharing from your part of the world. . .

    Like

  5. Wendi…beautiful! I love the idea of “feeling” the storm. It won’t be long until you will be hearing it, though…in all its glory! 🙂
    It won’t be much longer! 🙂 ((hugs))

    Like

  6. This post touched me. The part of being alone during a storm, scares me. Alex and Jenna always keep me informed. We also keep a flashlight for lipreading.

    Soon you will hear that thunder and it will scare you to pieces. I still remember the first time I heard thunder and rain. Rain sounds so different than anything I ever heard before. A very complete overtaking sound. Soon very soon.

    Like

  7. Wow, Wendi! I felt like I was right there with you. What a sweetie Dave is to think of that. First holding the purse during your surgery and now this. 😀

    Like

  8. This was a real eye opener! I have never though about touching the glass when there is a thunderstorm. Thank you for sharing this sweetie!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: