Welcome to The VERB!

I am not a morning person. The alarm clock is my enemy. The genius who thought it a good idea to wake up to the sound of ringing, honking or buzzing must've been one sick puppy. My hubby uses a radio alarm, which is set to a local political talk show, and gradually greets the day with the sound of people yakking. I, who usually sleeps an hour longer, have several wakeup calls at my disposal: a cat shoving her cold nose into my eye, a neighbor's motorcycle roaring down the road, a dog next door barking the news that someone is either in our yard or walking down the street (Thanks for that update, Charlie). 

Yet none of these can quite compare to the lovely shrill of a tornado siren. Just the other day, as I willed myself from a sleepy haze, I tried to remember if that sound was just another one of the tests they do around here on the first Monday of each month. But no, this one came on the wrong day. So I pried my eyes open. Despite what the clock read, the window said it was still nighttime even though I could've sworn hubby had left under a bright morning sky. Was I dreaming? No time to ponder. I'm no meteorologist, but I've seen enough TV to know that when you hear hail, thunder, wind and sirens all at once, chances are pretty good a tornado is around somewhere close. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my fuzzy warm house shoes and hurried to my office to watch the local news. (I have a small TV near my desk.) Lots of clouds and warning signs. I called out to my son down the hall, who didn't have an early class. "Get up! Grab a cat and get to the basement!" I unplugged my laptop, but what about my PC? CDs? Photos? Paintings? Knickknacks? Clothes? Shoes? Jewelry? Which valuables should I take? And how on earth would I get them down to the basement before that howling wind blew off the roof? 

I considered tossing things down the laundry chute, but our basement floor is concrete. And if the baskets weren't lined up just right, and no clothes were in those baskets, well, you can imagine what would happen to all things breakable. So I crammed my arms with what I could, and ran. As I reached the top stair, the sirens wound down. The TV weatherman announced the storm was moving east, away from us. We were safe. Relieved, I took my armload of valuables back to my office and dropped into my chair. Catching my breath. Listening to the thunder fade. Seeing a glimpse of sunlight return to the windows. Thinking how ill-prepared we are for tornadoes even though we live within "Tornado Alley." That's one heck of a wakeup call.

We are once again accepting submissions to the Chalkboard, so if you have an excerpt you'd like to share here in The VERB, send it our way. Refer to the guidelines on page 7.

And now, without further ado ... let's turn the page.

Elizabeth Guy
Editor
Blog!

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This issue 
was published 
under the musical influence of

CHRIS BOTTI
Night Sessions