Be Prepared.

Looks like we won't get the worst of all the tornadic activity that was up and down the mid-south last night and rumbling through parts of the southeast this morning. There's a fierce-looking line of storms in south Georgia and Florida, and our air today feels more than wet enough for storms, but I don't think the line's going to hold together well enough this far north to toss us around in quite the same way. The pictures of exploded houses and ruined everything coming out of Tennessee and Arkansas are awful. Maybe it's not the witch that's so scary in the Wizard of Oz. Maybe it's not even the notion of other worlds, of displacement, of being lost. Maybe it's just the weather, plain and simple.

Back-to-school day for me here in 27408 and, as a result, in 27244. A classroom full of kids wanting like all hell for me to have something to tell them. I passed a brand new grocery store on the way in, a grocery store where there used to be trees, and it's the Grand Opening of said grocery store, apparently, bunting and flags and a hot air balloon on the roof. So what I told them—my students—was that as near as I can tell, all evidence this morning suggests the following: groceries=hot air balloons.

The building wherein lies my office also houses an auditorium, such that with some frequency I get to hear, say, the pipe organ, or show tune rehearsals. We've got a winner today, though: they are tuning the harpsichord. String by plucky little string. And I say good for them— we need to have that thing ready in case the Renaissance suddenly breaks out.

They did cut the tornado siren on here a little while back, but there's nothing in the area. They were just practicing. Good to have that thing ready, too, I suppose. Good luck out there, everybody. Keep one eye to the western sky.