fan-tastic – thunder, wind and deadly lightning – talk radio

by Bella Rum

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H getting a crick in his neck

Our realtor said we should change a couple of our ceiling fans. At least she didn’t tell us to get rid of them like they often do on HGTV. What’s up with that? I like ceiling fans. They were so expensive back in the late eighties/early nineties. I remember wanting one, but I wouldn’t pay $300.. Now you can find them at any price you want.

We’ve had a number of awful storms recently. Remember when I told you about driving down to Dad’s and back home in torrential downpours last week? We’d never been happier to see our house as it came into focus through a sheet of falling rain. It felt so good to be home. As we settled in, we talked about a hot bowl of soup and biscuits for dinner when suddenly everything went black. Power didn’t return for three or four hours.  The thing I hate the most about losing power is the isolation . I’m so used to being connected. I hate not knowing what’s happening during storms. I ordered a crank radio yesterday. I’ll let you know how it works.

Yesterday afternoon, we had horrible storms here. We were on our way home from Home Depot (we live there now) when it hit. We were listening to a local station. The guy was as excited as a middle school girl who just learned the cute boy in class likes her. After several minutes of colorful hyperbole, he squealed, “I just saw DEADLY lightning.” I asked H, “Did he say deadly?” “Yep.”

The temperature dropped about 15 degrees in only a few minutes. The sky turned fifty shades of gray and black and it was suddenly dark outside. Trees started bending and twisting in a primitive dance, and huge, heavy drops of rain pounded the windshield. The wipers couldn’t keep up.  There were winds from 60 to 90 mph only a few miles from us. At least that’s what the faceless radio voice said. He begged us to pull over to the side of the road wherever we were, but keep listening to him. Of course. Who could stop?

I love talk radio. Love it. It’s my equivalent to those Real Housewives’ shows. I realize a lot of it is trash, but when I know we’re going to Dad’s, I live for it. In fact, that’s how I latched on to it, or maybe I should say it latched on to me. I drove down everyday when Dad was in the hospital and nursing home. I became addicted. H can’t stand it. He reclines and goes to sleep while I learn about conspiracies and plots, aliens and how to choose a new toilet, how to get out of debt or plan for the Grand Trio’s college, or how to break it to my best friend that her husband is gay. You have to love talk radio. It’s like my father’s neighborhood; there’s a place for everyone.

I told you about Richard McKann. He knows everything about house repairs. He’s great, but I’ve been cheating on him. I found this guy who knows everything except house repairs. Everything in the entire world. He knows finances, where to get the best airline deals, the best cell phone packages, the best hotel rates, how to travel on the cheap, how to avoid scams, how to deal with people, businesses, tenants, landlords, and banks when they do you wrong. There’s an ethical clark.howard.cnnthread that ties all of his advice together. And he’s one of those guys whose first and last names could be either his first or last name, like Anderson Cooper or Cary Grant. His name is Clark Howard. I’m forever calling him Howard Clark. You may be familiar with him. He’s a consumer expert and host of his nationally syndicated show. He has a deceivingly mature voice, but he’s younger than he sounds.

I also enjoy Dr. Joy, but it’s the people who call in to share their stories with her who really slay me. Can you believe her parents named her Joy and she grew up to be a clinical psychologist?

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