Sturm und drang und donder und blitzen.

Once more we here in the woods faced Mother's wrath and survived. Other than a most impressive wall cloud, replete wi' rotation and shafts lowering out of the main cloud mass, we got rain - lots of rain. Tornadoes threatened, but Mom kept dithering and finally decided that a good dosing of lightening, thunder, wind, and rain were enough for us. Och, and 'twas a muckle display o' all o' them we had at the Lair, too! 'Twas a wild and most wondrous nicht, tha' nicht.

We had nae tornadoes, but we did hae lots o' water in low places. A wee toon near the Lair, known as Lake Winnebago suffered quite the floodin'. I suppose I should call it Loch Winnebago tae remain in keepin' wi' me brogue, but I'll call it by its proper name. At any rate, e'en the city hall, which happens tae sit right on the banks of said loch and began life as a boat dealership, was flooded.

Fortunately, the Lair sits atop a hill, so the only damage I had was the loss o' me spouse's peonies. Tha's too bad, too, because the blooms were quite beautiful. Still, 'twas nowt compared tae all those people who lost their homes tae the water.

'Tis quiet here noo, but the weather guessers are callin' for yet more storms this nicht. Said storms are supposed tae be every bit as strong and potentially damagin' as those of which I write. We'll see. I'll turn me computer off, batten me hatches, and face bravely intae the storm, ragin' against the elements and cursin' the gods. Actually, I'll sit quietly on me sofa, eat a bite of dinner, and prepare for the worst.

Or maybe I'll go oot intae the storm, face intae it, and howl. A wolf needs a good howl every noo and then, y'ken.

Slainte!
The Auld Scot