We’re still in the dry summer season, this place that alternates rain/drought on the six month schedule every year, and the air across the valley was brown and hard to breathe this afternoon. Thick enough to muffle thunder.

We decided to beat the Saturday crowd and get some grocery shopping done this evening.

“Did you hear that?”

Coming home…

You know you live in the city when at first you’re looking for the source of the light beam going upwards: who’s advertising what?

And then it happens again and, as your husband drives, you can see the clouds that weren’t there earlier charcoal-doodled against the dark sky and that flash of light against them is brighter this time.

By the third time, one right after another, the two of you are talking about heat-lightning storms, but there’s not a drop from the sky.

Then you pull in the driveway and start to unload the groceries and it’s strike after strike, right there right above your heads. Breathtaking–but not something to dawdle in. A former in-law’s grandmother died of being hit by lightning.

The young teenage neighbor is standing in the middle of the street with his buddy, the two of them watching the sky, and I get that; it IS cool, it’s part of Nature and therefore inherently interesting and it’s very very very unusual to see around here. But–

–and having raised four teenagers, I walked over towards them and asked them about what they’d seen, maybe the parts we’d missed while we were in the car. “Sorry, I’m being too deaf, say that again?” and I walked closer.

Having a middle-aged woman join your conversation when you’re keenly aware of the need to be cool around your friend: we’re out of here! They answered once to be polite and then left, quickly back inside.

Cue the Kenny Rogers, Mom version: You gotta know when to scold’em, know when to embolden’em, know when they’ll walk away, know how it’s done…