It's like thunder, lightning
Yesterday was a bit of an interesting day for me.
Being the second anniversary of the first big quake that shook our region from complacency, it was certainly a day of reflection. Two years is a fairly short measure of time during a human life. It's roughly the life expectancy for a pair of jeans. It's not a long time in the scheme of things. But with so much change over that period, my "pre-quake" days seem a lifetime ago.
I was more grateful than usual yesterday for this blog too, as it's served as backup memory for me. I went back and re-read the two posts (part I and part II) on what happened to me on September 4, 2010, and sure enough there were things that I'd forgotten.
Not to mention the other momentous event of that day, namely my first date with the Silver Fox. Two years ago yesterday my concerns were ranked something like:
As we dined on burgers and onion rings at Burger King that evening, we thought it likely that we were the only people in the city who were foolish enough to persevere with a first date during a state of emergency. But then both of us had been single for a while, so that's an emergency in itself, and none that seismic forces shall hold any sway over, thank you very much.
For our second anniversary we decided to go somewhere slightly nicer than Burger King for dinner.
As I walked home from the bus stop last night, I noticed that the sky was looking quite impressive. Voluminous, gunmetal grey clouds obscured the sky to the south and looked almost unreal. It reminded me of a matte painting, maybe by someone like the late, great Ralph McQuarrie.
Upon my arrival home I was banned from entering the living room for a time, though I did sneak a peek and saw a really big, oddly shaped, wrapped...thing in the middle of the room. Eventually I was allowed in and instructed to tear the paper of this object, which turned out to be the most beautiful bike ever made (as pictured). The Silver Fox did an impersonation of the sound I made when I saw it for the first time. He sounded exactly like a whistling kettle. Which I'm sure is a mistake. Probably. I admit, there was definitely "squeeing" and clapping and jumping up and down.
And then I gave the Silver Fox his present. Which was a book. Stink.
I then took my lovely present outside for a spin. I rode her up and down the street and only stopped when the sky started randomly flashing. I pulled up next to my neighbours, who had walked to the end of the street so as to have a better view of the light show, and declared "I've got a new bike!" like an excited seven-year-old. Followed by "oooh" and "aaah" as the kind of lightning I've only ever seen in movies cut jagged arcs across the sky. The neighbours then pointed out how very metally my bike is. I pedalled back home shortly afterwards.
Mother Nature sure does like turning on the special effects for us, it seems.
And as we left for dinner the heavens chucked their worst down at us. Never has the distance between the front step and the car door seemed so large as it did when tangy-fruit-sized hailstones were pelting down. These upgraded to "giant Jaffa" size as we made our way across town and at one point I did wonder if the windscreen was in danger of smashing under the bombardment.
In fact the Silver Fox was heard to say "this is like Level 60 Wizard skills". I have no idea what that means other than "my boyfriend is a geek".
I was also entertained that where I compared the hailstones to different varieties of confectionery, he chose to see them as different sizes of animal testes. The ones we saw on the ground when we were walking gingerly to the restaurant he deemed "monkey sized". Presumably the smaller ones we'd seen were meerkat sized? So, that just goes to show that it's all about how you look at things.
And to the Silver Fox. The way you love me IS frightening. But in a good way.
Did you see all the excitement in the sky yesterday? Can you believe it's been two years since this all kicked off? What do you think of my bike?