Yesterday a friend told me that it was going to rain today. This means nothing, because this is Texas, and stormclouds behave the same way that drivers of Ford Excessives do on the freeway. That is, that they're apt to suddenly cross three lanes of traffic without signalling (signalling is for sucks), four-wheel it over the strip of grass and drainage ditch between the freeway and the feeder road, then roar off in the opposite direction. Hurricane Rita did this (for which we are profoundly grateful), and all of the weather systems seem to be involved in a giant square dance in the sky to music and announcers that only they can hear.
However, as I lay in bed reading one last chapter (take that, Mom!) last night, spurts of torrential rain and thunder started up. Then another spurt started, but it was ten-fold louder. "Annie, it's hailing!" I shouted, forgetting momentarily that just because I was still awake didn't mean she was. We ran downstairs and looked out on hailstones ranging in size from the size of peas to garbanzo beans (post-re-hydration). My car was immediately in front of us, protected by the blessed car-port that our luxury accomodations provide us with. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing the thwarted hailstones bounce off it rather than my car.
Almost three years ago, I stood on a third-floor balcony with friends watching hailstones as large as baseballs pelt our cars. I had owned my own car (my very first) but one week at the time. The noise of the hail was augmented by strange sirens which seemed to have no purpose (I thought they were old air-raid sirens that had been triggered in some mysterious way by the hail.) It turns out they were tornado sirens, which explains the high winds we experienced up there. I wasn't too upset because my car was fully insured and this was going to be a great story. However, I did make a point of finding an apartment with covered parking spaces.
