Driving home from work last night, half the town was without power. Trees were tipped over, roots in the air, and bits of branches littered the streets. Sirens were wailing all around. The metal frame tent structure in the garden center area at the hardware store was twisted and shattered and scattered down the block. Bits of detritus stuck to buildings and trees.

And I was just trying to buy a birthday card for the pony, before heading out to meet a group of strangers for his birthday dinner. Luckily my house had power, so though I couldn't find a place open to buy a card, I could clean myself up a bit. I didn't bother to try to retrieve the giant potted tomatoes, which had been blown off the porch and flew several feet into the yard, mangling the tomato cages into V-shaped bits of wire.

That's rather how I felt.

Friday's rain was long and hard, but from the safety of the mother ship, from the good cheer of vodka and delightful friends, the night seemed quite giddy. And even when I lost my sandal somewhere between Hat's truck and my steps, I felt distinctly that I was having fun. (As he did later, when he got the late-night, vodka-colored message from me about my missing shoe, which turned up the next morning in the middle of the flower bed, cupping a wee puddle of water in the foot bed.) It was cleansing, standing outside in the heavy warm rain in the middle of the night. One should do that more often.

But Saturday, Sunday and Monday dawned sweaty and sunny and sultry, and I missed things I wanted, like a trip to the drive-in, a barbecue with Hat and the farmer's market. But I did finally view the pony, as you know. The heat held till we ran to the basement for cover yesterday, sirens wailing, tornado warnings all around.

I'm tired. Confused.

But Friday the Bottle Rockets will be here, and if I remember, I adored at least several songs on their newish disk. And it's not supposed to rain for a few days, so we'll see whether the pony runs or not and how I feel, if it does. Or doesn't.