Posted on 05/04/2009 5:30:44 PM PDT by Congressman Billybob
Actually, it was a dark and stormy weekend.
On Friday, right after the computer office closed, our tower-broadcast Internet access failed. It remained out until Monday morning. Meanwhile, Michelle and I had two articles each that were on deadline. But that was the easy part.
We have a good friend who is an adopted grandmother, named Gibson Jefferson McConnaughey, almost 91 years old. A week ago, she was fine for her age. Thursday she was in the hospital with serious complications from a blood clot. Saturday morning she died. Until an hour before she died, she was conscious and talking with us.
But each breath was coming slower and harder than the one before. Then one more breath was too much to do, and she slipped away. My parents both died the same way, but neither was conscious near the end. Both suffered long and hard at the end.
Gibson died the best way. A long and lively life, followed by a swift decline with a minimum of pain.
On Sunday night, as we were mourning our friend, and following Plan B to get our four articles out the door, one of the impressive thunderstorms typical to this territory, moved in on top of us. In a trice the soothing sound of spring rain on a tin roof was replaced by the crack of lightning very close to the house. All the lights went out, just before nine.
So, we lit some fat, scented candles and settled down a battery radio playing some Irish tunes, beginning with “A Reel for a Water Deviner.” We speculated briefly on how long we thought the power would be out. Also on whether we’d be able to take showers the following morning, because the supply of water depended on a pressure tank with a 12-gallon capacity. And that, in turn, depended on electricity.
The longest that the power’s been out was nearly a week, during a blizzard several years ago. We left switched on a bed table light. At 5 am that light lit up. Mercifully swift for our local electrical co-op.
This column is the last of our four deadline articles. Gibson’s memorial service will be in our church on Thursday. All the trees and plants are laced with vibrant green shoots. The 80 miles to the horizon is filled with low-lying remnants of the clouds which brought last night’s storm. Instead of merely foothills of the Blue Ridge, it looks like a huge, stormy sea out there.
Did you know that if you are close, I mean really close, there are two sounds from a lightning strike. There is the crash of the strike itself. But before that, there is a distinct click like a gun being cocked, when the strike first forms its channel from ground to sky, before the bolt itself happens and the suddenly overheated air explodes.
What is lesson from these experiences? All of life involves trade-offs. We trade off the wild beauty of our surroundings for the technical problems of remaining connected to the rest of the world, and living in a house of questionable functionality. We live among a small group of people, but we know almost all of them, and well.
Certainty is not possible in a house with five Franklin stoves and two granite fireplaces as the main source of heat. It can be very hot or quite cold, but seldom just right. Within an acceptable range is a valid goal around here.
But in this life, even on this dark and stormy weekend, it is worth it.
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About the Author: John Armor practiced law in the Supreme Court for 33 years. He now lives on the Eastern Continental Divide in the Blue Ridge of North Carolina. John_Armor@aya.yale.edu
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John / Billybob
Admin: move this to Chat if you must.
I always enjoy what you have to say.
I did.
John...
My condolences for your loss... and you are a pretty good writer.
John
Nice. Moving.
The first time I drove through those mountains was in April some years ago. I was so stunned by the beauty that I still don’t know how I did not drive off a cliff because of trying to take it all in.
I am sorry for your loss and happy that you knew her.
I appreciate your writing the article. I also understand the trade-offs. I live on the edge of the jungle in Papua, Indonesia. Sometimes things work. Sometimes they don’t.
My condolences on the death of your adopted grandmother. Thank you for sharing it with us.
This story reminds me of the night my grandmother passed. There was a breathtaking thunderstorm with lightning like fireworks just after she died—and it helped break a long drought. It was like Grandma’s first item of business in Heaven was to tell God we needed rain.
I’ve noticed people always do things to get your attention on their way out. It can be anything from a thunderstorm to a picture suddenly falling off the wall, or you might lock your keys in the car or misplace something important.
John / Billybob / Ben
My great aunt Frankie had a life like that. My mom said she got her best marital advice from Frankie - "Never volunteer to clean your husband's game he brings home from the hunt."
She lived to be 99. She woke up on January 1st, 2000, in fine spirits and passed away later that day with no pain. The family joke was that she wasn't Y2K compliant.
May we all be so blessed.
Thanks for posting it. I know you’ll miss her.
I think a lot of what y'all get passes thru here first. (SE Texas)
Ah, yes. The "click".
Experienced that myself one summer when I was working at the local grain elevator in Northern Oklahoma.
My boss and I stepped outside the office to watch an approaching thunderstorm -- which would shut down grain deliveries for the day. We were standing on a concrete step in front of the scale office.
There was that "click". And, then, almost instantaneously the loudest sound I have ever heard. I can't describe it -- other than it was so loud you had no idea what it could have been. Not really a "sound" so much as a palpable, unexplained "impact".
My boss and I looked at each other and we were both astounded at what had just happened -- whatever it was.
Then, I looked down and saw the metal footscraper that was embedded in the concrete step -- about two feet away from where we stood. It was a pool of smoking molten metal.
Talk about "a force of nature". And two lucky guys...
Thanks, very nice.
Then a boiling globe of fire rolled slowly - very slowly - across the living room floor into the fireplace and vanished with a huge wet popping sound.
My grandfather, a WWI veteran, regarded the fireplace solemnly and said, "Well! THAT was something!"
Right he was.
After my husband and I got married and had our first house, we bought a 3500w generator before we even got a lawnmower. We have a LOT of thunderstorms around here, and the house sat on a toenail of Stone Mountain and was a lightning magnet. Every white oak on the place had the telltale spiral mark running down the tree.
In, of all places, the suburbs of DC. It was 1980-ish...a big snow storm...out of the blue the lightening and thunder began and continued for at least 30 minutes. I still remember thinking how can there be thunder and lightening in the winter...anyway, I had not been, nor have since, been in so much terror of nature and awe of God since...Thunder Snow...just awesome.
... there are two sounds from a lightning strike. ... the crash of the strike itself ... [and] a distinct click like a gun being cocked ...
For those who have ears to hear, those words have relevancy to the current state of affairs, politically, in America.
Terrific read. Brought back memories of a visit to Asheville and a stay in a rustic cabin at Fontana Dam in the 1980’s. The Blue Ridge Mountains are beautiful.
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