By Guinn Sweet | email@example.com
I have never been particularly frightened by windstorms; probably because of my greater dislike of the cellar, or “dugout,” which I was pressured to enter at the slightest indication of a storm when I was a child.
My Granny’s fear of storms, seen coming at far distances on the eastern New Mexico high plains, always produced shrill commands and rapid preparations for the occupying of the cellar, always exceeded my fear of the spiders, snakes, darkness and the crowding of the massive assembly of canned corn, green beans, squash and pickles of the mid-summer gardening goods. Until I rebelled and refused to accompany her and brother to the questionable safety underground, that is. That dislike of running from the weather has continued until this day. The most recent outbreak of multiple tornadoes in the D/FW area may have put a different perspective in my mind, however.
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