Sometime between Tuesday and Wednesday, while a blizzard raged outside, I dreamed of tornadoes. In the dream, I stepped out the front door to look around and then the tornado sirens went off. I looked to the west and could clearly see a sizable tornado making its way in my direction. I hurried back inside and told Michael “We need to go to the basement right now.” I scooped up Josephine and we all scrambled down the rickety basement steps. Michael said “I don’t understand. I didn’t hear the sirens.” I replied “I only heard them for a beat and I don’t know why they’re not still sounding the alarm.” We watched through the basement window (that doesn’t really exist) as the tornado danced into our front yard. It then skirted between our house and the neighbor’s to the east of us. We continued to watch the tornado move along through backyards and between houses, luckily leaving people’s homes undamaged.
This dream happened while the wind outside didn’t as much howl as it did roar. It almost sounded like waves from an angry sea crashing onto a beach. Occasionally there would be a loud thump or thud of something being knocked over or very likely a transformer blowing. Our power flickered off long enough at some point during the night to require the time to be reset on the stove. When I peaked out a window, I could see a number of small tree branches littering the backyard. Even though there was very little snow accumulation, school ended up being closed Wednesday mostly because of power outages across the metro. The roads were icy in patches, worse for side streets as per usual, but I had no trouble making my way to work. We didn’t even bother shoveling the driveway. At lunch time, I stood waiting for the elevator with one of our postdocs and their five year old. The child was literally vibrating with pent up energy and I asked about his snow day. The postdoc, being very patient but also having a look of worn depleted mom, said “I hope it’s the last one.”
Maybe this is the last snow storm for the year.
Probably not.
In the fourteen years since moving here I have never seen a tornado. I have only twice looked up at the sky and said “Yeah….the weather person might be right about this. We should go to the basement.” As if I know more than the weather people and in someways I just might. KCMO is a vast area of various terrain. When they say there’s “tornadic activity” in the KCMO area they’re talking about the flat areas near the Kansas side. Tornados prefer to travel across flat lands. My house sits on the nubby hill side of town, the part where everything begins to slope towards our great river. Not that this means tornados are not possible in my neighborhood, just less likely. And if I don’t know what a wall cloud looks like or the sky signs for a tornado by now, then I never will and quite possible will have to relinquish the part of my identity that was born and raised in Tornado Alley.
Technically it is still winter. Yet, here I am dreaming about spring time tornados in places not normally seen. I am sure it is a bit of wishful thinking. There’s always a bit of exhilaration at the first sight of the tulip greens poking up out of the ground even while knowing we will see more snow before they actually bloom. I suspect this dream has less to do about weather than it is a commentary of current events. We’re all hiding in basements from a real life tornado causing minimal damage to maximum destruction as it weaves it’s way through our communities, taking away jobs and scholarships, building an economic structure that will force a choice between paying for healthcare or paying the rent. This tornado might spare my house, but not the houses of our LGBTQ+ families or nonwhite Americans.
When I say ‘spare’, I mean not completely destroyed. I still stand to lose my job and my retirement money due to cuts in federal funding for science. Funds for my work place are also linked to an investment company. If the investment company isn’t doing well, we don’t do well. The tariff situation is going to make it difficult for the investment company because no one is thinking about investing money when they’re just trying to pay the bills. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out ways to communicate with those who use the phrase “respectfully disagree”. This would be easier if the disagreement was over pizza toppings and not the value of human lives. The word ‘respectful’ is subjective and often employed in arguments where the user has little constructive, factual or relevant words to aid in their argument. It is a card thrown when the card holder doesn’t want to listen. It is used by people who have enough privilege to allow them to not question their government or the ‘news’ they are watching. This privilege also allows for a lack of empathy towards those impacted by this administrations decisions.
I do not have the luxury of such privilege.
Once as a child, I stared directly at a tornado as it traveled feets away from the family camper. I did not scream or flinch. I just stood still, pinned to the trailer by my mother’s arm. I am strong and brave. I am tenacious and I’ve learned how pace myself in a fight. I’m finding great joy finding little ways to mess with the methods of destruction being implemented by this tornado. Amani sent me a link this week were I can provide a description of discrimination by the administration. I tried writing a whole paragraph but the form errored. So I’ve been entering one sentence at a time and submitting it. This feels so much more satisfying and fun then an all at once thing. Whenever I’m feeling a little down, I go on over to The Department of Education , and type in ‘White House’ for my school with the zip code (20500) and then leave a sentence about the discriminatory practices committed by this administration. I’m still sending Elon my weekly updates. I know it’s not a big change, but I know it’s annoying for the person on the other end. I am one gnat, but I know I’ve generated more gnats by sharing my little micro aggressions. I’ve seen what happens when someone gets swarmed by gnats with the running and waving, flailing arms. It drives a person crazy.
This post doesn’t really sound like much of a gratitude post, but maybe if you read between words you can see it. I am grateful for the small things and I am grateful for the parts of me that have no fear. I am grateful for dreams that remind me that there is growth from destruction. I am grateful for the tiny bit of hope that we can rebuild, better and stronger. I am grateful for those who have joined the gnat army.