I love a good thunderstorm. Rain without thunder? Well, it’s just not quite as fun. My grandmother used to tell us whenever there was a big rumble of thunder that it was just God hauling his potato wagon across the bridge. Why God would be hauling potatoes across a bridge is beyond me. It does seem He probably has more important things to do.

Whenever she’d tell us that, I’d picture God as this huge Paul Bunyan type of figure, but instead of wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, He wore a robe with a rope around his waist. He had a massive wooden wheelbarrow filled with potatoes and was just casually toting it over an arched wooden bridge in the rain. Of course there was a stream running underneath the bridge with giant rocks in it and woodlands and meadows surrounding it. In my mind, it was something straight out of a fairy tail. Where on earth my grandmother came up with this crazy story to calm us down, I’ll never know, but it worked.

We’ve been having some good thunderstorms here the last couple of days. I’m not much of a fan of gray days, but like I said, I enjoy a good thunderstorm. The dogs, on the other hand, do not enjoy them. They shake and they pant and seek out places in our tiny little apartment to hide. Tripp, in particular, prefers that we all go to the bedroom where I guess he perceives is the safest place to be. If possible, I oblige and work from my chair tucked in the corner while he either lays at my feet or hides in his corner by the closet. Unfortunately, telling them that it’s just God hauling his potato wagon across the bridge doesn’t work for them.