I spent a couple of hours at the weekend making sure I had a good stack of firewood close to the house so I didn't have to brave that 10-yard dash to the woodshed in a downpour. Plus I got the groceries in a bit early.
Naturally I made sure I got a couple of little treats just in case the weather hit with a vengeance and we were stuck in front of the fire and the telly for days. Such desperate conditions simply cannot be endured without consuming a choccy biscuit (or two), albeit gluten free with the texture of cardboard.
Contributing to our state of readiness, Mrs P went to Briscoes and bought two more clothes drying racks. You know the ones I mean, they expand into the size of your lounge but fold up to nothing.
I didn't bat an eyelid when she came home with them. I half expected something like that to occur. She'd gone out for a packet of clothes pegs but once again the sign saying "special" got her heart racing and she went on autopilot as she neared the eftpos machine.
Apparently it was too good a deal to bypass (aren't they always) and we will be giving one to the Boomerang Child.
For now though our house is warm, cozy, with plenty of firewood and choccy biscuits close at hand and three racks full of damp clothes drying in the lounge courtesy of Mrs P's recent washing binge.
Apparently if you are going to experience a winter storm you have to do so in clean clothes. Go figure.
Anyway.
I'm looking out the window and my mind wanders to a time long ago when I'd had to go out in such a downpour.
Now I'm not suggesting for a second what we have experienced thus far, heavy rain though it was, is akin to what I'm about to relate to you but I'm sure you will get my drift when I tell you I remember having to go out in the middle of Cyclone Bola.
Well, not exactly "the middle".
At the time decades ago, I lived off to the side of where that particular disaster hit. It was, however, still strong enough to throw up some interesting conditions.
Like at my house where I was renovating and had, because that's what I do, procrastinated when it came to putting in the flashings and mouldings around my newly installed wood windows/doors.
I won't bore you with all the technical details about what that means other than to explain the windows/doors were in but there was a gap open to the elements of say, half an inch in old money, around the side and the top.
Thus, as Cyclone Bola's tail flicked torrential rain and wind my way it came through the wall and landed on me and Mrs P then sitting comfortably mid-room in our mid-renovation house.
It wasn't a little bit either.
What started as an occasional spit soon become an absolute torrent, pushed in by the fiercest wind I've ever experienced.
There was nothing to do but face the intruder head on so I headed outside with a hammer, some nails and any bits of scrap wood I could find to shore up the leaking gaps.
Oddly, while wet and windy, I recall it being quite warm with the sky constantly lit up by blue lightning.
Regardless, I managed to sort the issue and we moved some stuff away inside to lessen the impact of the flood.
Next day, with the rain and wind having disappeared, I was outside repairing my quick fix job when a neighbour appeared and asked if he could help.
I asked him if he could get me some more nails from the garage. I'll never forget his reply.
"What garage?"
You guessed it, such was the power of the storm my beloved six by four man cave had done a runner during the night and bits of it were now "visiting" various other households throughout the neighbourhood.
That stormy experience wasn't the only anecdote that came to mind the other day.
I recall my dad telling me, through fits of laughter I recall, how when we lived in England, he'd got off the train late one night and was making his way home, coat collar turned up, when the heavens opened and a bolt of lightning took out the street lights.
As was common practice where we lived, a short cut was always taken through the local church graveyard.
On this occasion, Dad had gotten a little off the path in the rain and with the lights out and had fallen into an open grave, presumably dug for use the next day.
To make matters worse, the heavy rain had now made the sides of the grave slippery and he couldn't get out.
Deciding to wait till the rain eased and/or someone came along to assist, Dad pulled his coat further up around his ears and huddled into the corner.
Some time later another unfortunate local came plodding along in the dark and fell into the same grave.
Imagine what he must have thought when my dad, crouched in the darkness, said "Hello".
Funny what you remember standing at the ranchslider looking out at the rain.
