Fireflies and Fireworks.

It's been raining here almost every day. This last Thursday I was driving directly into the path of a giant thunderstorm cell that decided to start birthing tornadoes. That is to say, I was driving home and the weather guy on the radio was successfully throwing me into hysterics by telling me exactly where the tornadoes were seven miles from my house. I admitted to H when I walked in that I was a little freaked out, and asked if would he mind terribly if we turned down the volume on the baseball game and turned up the sound from the live studio weatherman feed on the computer. H obliged, and while he spent the evening enjoying a lively game of If I Hit It Will They Catch It?, I was glued to the screen while an unrealistically calm camera man in a helicopter pointed out how close to the ground the rotating clouds appeared to be. After an hour I finally calmed down to a less-than-red-alert level of scaredy-pants. H turned to me and asked, "Do you want to watch something on Netflix?". As I inhaled to say, "I think that would be swell," the tornado sirens sprung to life once again.

Our house sits on what I like to call a 'hill', with a small dip in the backyard. It's barely noticeable until a thousand gallons of rainwater band together and start to flood the dip. I never really understood what the phrase "sheets of rain" meant until that night.

The rain started really showing us who's boss after that. I took this video, and then a second less than ten minutes later. We had a righteous river crossing at least six household yards as far as I could see.

I know what you're thinking. Why was H more interested in baseball than the scary thunderstorm threatening to sink our house boat? At least now I know what we are and are not bringing with us into the storm shelter we use as a basement. Phones? Check. Blanket? Check. Canned goods? Not unless we plan on being down there for more than a day, and at that point we would probably be flooded. Mattress to protect us from the rest of the house falling down on top of us? I voted yes, but H voted against it. I am confident enough in my mattress carrying capabilities to say that H will be thanking me later in the event that a tornado tries to crater our household. 

I have never lived in a city that allows fireworks. I can still remember sitting on top of my father's truck cabin, watching the illegal fireworks go off from our neighborhood. I asked someone at work a week prior to the Fourth what the state laws were on fireworks, and they said it was mainly city to city. As it turns out, our city is one that allows fireworks as long as the setter-offer has an easily obtainable permit of sorts. As such, the entire week leading up to the Fourth we endured fireworks shows every single night within the neighborhood. The day of the Fourth, people were setting off fireworks all the live long day.  When H came home from the ballgame, we took a splendid walk around the neighborhood and enjoyed all of the festive bangs. It was like walking through a war zone, with the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, a light fog hugging the ground, and the constant bang-bang-bang of celebratory poppers. I cannot wait until next year to experience the walk again.

Every night since before the holiday (up to a week, I believe), there has been a remarkable event happening outside our home. Fireflies have been spotted - even on the night of the terrible storm - and while it is quite difficult to take a photo of a lightning bug, I believe I may have done it.

A still photo. Yes, that one pixel is the light of a firefly. H claims I Photoshopped this. 

Fireflies are remarkable creatures. They remind me of a few things, but most strongly of watching Grave of the Fireflies with my father. What a remarkable movie.

And that, I believe, is all for now in the land of Kansas City. Tune in next time for Anna Kills a Fat Spider Without Remorse. Spoiler: the spider dies a slow and painful death.