Meet the Misrememberings

Bob

A man fully committed to confidence regardless of available evidence.

The General

Proof that love and intimidation can peacefully coexist.

The One

The steady voice of reason in a world that kept operating without proper adult supervision.

Uncle Mike

The kind of man who could turn an ordinary afternoon into a story that needed explaining later.

The Jeep

Played by a rotating cast of vehicles that all seemed personally offended to be owned by me.

The Boat

What happens when Jeep ownership expands into maritime operations.

Rodney

Believed getting there first was more important than knowing why we were going.

Pudd

A Scottish Terrier with land, title, opinions, and an unhealthy interest in strawberries and skunks.

One story before you go...

Derecho (“deh-REY-cho”)

From the National Weather Service — a widespread, long-lived wind storm associated with a band of rapidly moving showers or thunderstorms.

Note to readers: The storm I’m about to describe rolled through on June 29, 2012. It adversely affected millions of people across several states. What follows is my version of events…filtered through heat, hindsight, and whatever parts my memory decided to keep.

Note to Marlan (my brother from another mother): As per our previous conversation—I think your suggestion of naming one of your future grandkids Derecho is a great idea…

…and by great, I mean terrible.

A really terrible idea.

I hope this concludes the matter. Let’s not bring it up again. It makes my brain hurt.

It had been hot for days.

Not the kind of hot where you complain a little and go about your business.
This was the kind that settles in…takes up residence…starts making decisions for you.

The air didn’t move.
It just sat there…thick and heavy…like it had weight to it.

You could feel it when you stepped outside—like walking into a damp blanket someone forgot to wring out. Even the shade didn’t help. Shade just meant you were uncomfortable without direct sunlight judging you for it.

Inside wasn’t much better.

The One and I were living in a mobile home perched up on the side of a mountain overlooking the New River. On paper, that sounded peaceful. Scenic. Maybe even a little romantic.

In reality, it was a metal tube baking in the sun like a biscuit someone forgot to take out of the oven.

The old central air unit was doing everything it could.
And I mean everything.

It rattled.
It hummed.
It groaned like it had a personal grudge against summer.

And still…all it could manage was to take the edge off just enough to keep us from sticking to the furniture.

I had taken up residence directly over one of the vents—positioned like a man who had made peace with his circumstances. If you didn’t move…if you angled yourself just right…you could almost convince yourself things were acceptable.

Almost.

At one point, The One looked around and said she thought it ought to be cooler up here since we were higher in elevation than folks down in the valley.

Now…this was one of those moments where a lesser man might nod thoughtfully and say,
“Yeah…you’d think so.”

But I am not that man.

I informed her—very calmly—that it was a well-known scientific fact that being higher up actually put us closer to the sun…which meant we were naturally experiencing more intense heat than those below us.

I delivered this information with confidence.
The kind of confidence that suggests charts and graphs might exist somewhere to back it up.

She stared at me for a moment.

You could see it happening…
That brief pause where she evaluated not only what I had said—but also the life choices that had led her to this exact conversation.

And then…silence.

The kind of silence that says,
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Which I took, naturally, as agreement.

By late afternoon, the sky had that familiar look.

Around here, when it gets this hot, you expect something to break.
A pop-up thunderstorm.
A quick downpour.
Maybe a little wind to remind you the world is still turning.

Relief…even if it only lasts fifteen minutes.

So when the phone rang and a neighbor mentioned something about a storm system with a strange name heading our way, I didn’t think much of it...

...the story continues in Misrememberings.