My part of the country can’t seem to catch a break from tornadoes this season. For reasons quite obvious, I’m not fond of this time of year when it comes to weather. The television coverage alone is enough to make you want to move. As Jon Stewart so aptly commented, the Weather Channel seems to be forever covering “The Storm Of The Century Of The Week.”
And our recent storms were quite the attention getters. We even made the BBC World News.
Where I live, it seems every single one of our tornado watches or warnings have occurred in the wee hours of the night. I’m an early to bed, early to rise kind of girl. And these late night watches are kickin’ my butt.
I was lamenting this to my husband just yesterday morning. Whining about my horrible sleep deprivation. And then, on the news, flashed devastating pictures of huge trees fallen, brick homes flattened. Parents, clutching their frightened children, found under the debris. An elderly woman, who did everything right – going to the lowest point of her home, crouched in a closet with blankets on top of her – still perished with her home demolished.
So much for my lack of sleep cry. It doesn’t merit a whisper in the wake of such devastation.
And the television coverage? Constant. On every channel. My children, unnecessarily worried long after the storm. Spongebob never looked so appealing.
While I was getting ready for my day this morning, my husband walked in and said, “I know we don’t allow TV in the morning before school but I’m letting the boys watch the Royal Wedding coverage.”
Huh? I will barely watch the coverage. Sure, I’m excited for them. But a wedding is a wedding. Sweet. Wonderful. But I barely know of them, let alone know them.
“And they’re mesmerized,” he marveled, “with all of the horses and swords and guards and carriages.”
Of course, they are. They’re boys. That would be what they would gravitate toward.
“This will only happen a few times in their lifetime,” my husband continued. “There’s no harm in a little indulgent history.”
Indulgent history. History. I never looked at it that way. An event? Sure. But history? He’s right.
As I watched with my boys, I, too, was swept up in the pageantry. And then, watching later with my 18 year-old daughter, I was swept up in the romance.
“Awwwww, look how he looks at her!” She exclaimed. “And mom! You have to see this!”
She rewinds to the moment when Prince Williams says, “You look beautiful.”
My daughter swoons. She watches the kiss (and second kiss). She admires the dress and what a handsome couple they make.
At first, I was amazed at the all-day, every channel coverage this event is garnering. Now, I am grateful. I’m having a hard time remembering an event, a news-worthy, interesting, happy event that was plastered across the news and televised for hours upon end.
A positive, uplifting, happy event. All over the news. Talked about the world over. Celebrating love and happiness.
What a refreshing pause.
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