Richness

When you work in the roofing industry like I do, you meet a lot of interesting people. Last summer, in the midst of CATASTROPHE 2009, my company worked alongside "stormchasers," which is just another word for "gypsies." That's an entirely different blog post in and of itself. Through the months, my co-workers and I developed an inside joke about these people....Whenever it hailed, we would sarcastically step outside into the storm with our arms outstretched, lifting our faces to the falling hailstones, laughing giddily, and shouting, "WE'RE GONNA BE RICH!" It's called the Hail Dance.

This year, we are still developing sarcastic measures through which to cope with the stress of CAT 2010. Every day at 4 p.m. we e-mail each other our nominations for the company "quote of the day." We have to have a sense of humor, right? We are also in our seventh week of our therapeutic Thursday Book Club, through which we endeavor to become less sarcastic and more purposeful in our tasks.

But this last weekend, I wondered for the first time if I was beginning to morph into a stormchaser of sorts. I was at my grandma's house in Nebraska, and my grandma, my mom, Ryley, and I (four generations of girls!) were putting together a puzzle and watching a movie around 10 p.m. Suddenly, we heard a loud thump on the roof. Then we heard another. We raced to the windows and, though I've been dealing with the aftermath of such things for several years, I saw this for the first time with my own eyes:





Hail, literally the size of baseballs.



The thing is? It kinda made me a little giddy. It sounded like baseballs hitting the ground at high speeds. Thud. Thud. CRACK. Roooolllllllll down the roof. Ding (as it hits the gutter). Thud.



It was impressive, nonetheless. :-)

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Earlier in the evening, Ryley and Mammaw had enjoyed a bike ride within view of the Scottsbluff Monument, and we all had a relaxing chat on the patio.





After her week with her Honey and Mammaw, I brought my little girl home with rosier cheeks, brighter eyes, approximately 32 new freckles, and a healthier, happier demeanor. She read seven chapter books, ate lots of fresh fruit, devoured three enchiladas at Taco Town, spent countless hours in the peaceful outdoors, and was loved on (dare I say) constantly.



I guess that's just what "The Good Life" of Nebraska does to her.

It's always done it to me, too.

Hail dance or no hail dance, I think we're already rich. :-)