Funnel Cake > Funnel Cloud

As far as weather goes, Chicago is a strange city.

It's not that windy (contrary to its nickname), although a good breeze off the lake is common. It's cold in the winter, but we don't get much snow (the lake effect usually hits Indiana and Michigan much worse). It's hot in the summer, however I wouldn't say it's that much worse than New Jersey or Pennsylvania where I've lived in the past.

It's typical of the Midwest, I think, except for one thing:

We don't get tornadoes.

Much of Illinois, Missouri, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, even Wisconsin and Minnesota have more than a few tornadoes touch down each year. It's one of the scariest weather-related happenings I can think of (and this is coming from someone who lived through a pretty rough hurricane), mostly because there is no real way to predict its path or whether or not it'll even materialize. Hurricanes, snow storms, thunderstorms... there's usually a path involved. Sure, things can veer off at the last minute, but in most cases, you have time to board up your windows or, inevitably, run to the grocery store to get gallons of milk and bread.

(I love that. Every winter, when a big storm is forecast, you can't get near the bread aisle without being knocked over by some crazed woman grabbing the last 8 loaves of Wonder. I mean, do people eat that much bread? What about crackers? Or fruit? Of all things you'd want to feed your stranded family, I can think of a lot more interesting and tasty foods to give them.)

Anyway, tornadoes. While certainly Chicago is as likely to get hit by one as any other city in the Midwest, I don't really think about them. And in the 7 years I've lived here, there never has been a significant threat.

Until last night. At around 8 o'clock, the sky opened up and rain came pouring straight down. It was coming in buckets -- the hardest rain I've seen in forever. Then, the tornado sirens started blaring and emergency notices started to take over the television. So, in yet another fit of protection gone mad, I made Kristen go down to the basement.

We never made it completely to the basement, though, as we sat on the bottom stoop of the back stairway -- which is covered but outside -- and we watched the rain and lightening and listened to the loud cracks of thunder. At the first sign of a green sky or a whooshing noise, I was ready to carry her the last few steps down to the basement, but luckily it never came to that.

(There was talk of a tornado hitting two towns which border Chicago and are only about 40 blocks west of us: Park Ridge and Lincolnwood [mostly known for where we bought the crib mattress]. I'm not sure if there was any confirmation however.)

Later, I had to drive downtown to go to my class (a late run-through of a show that I've written something for), and although the rain had stopped on my drive in, it started up again when I was coming home, so much so that I had to pull over to the side of the road and sit for a while. I also had to make a U-turn in the middle of the street to avoid being submerged under water).

Of course, as all this was happening, from the first storm at 8 to my class to the rainy drive home at midnight, was the thought that this was the night, that somehow, on the most rainy, stormy night of our Chicago lives, we'd have to find our way to the hospital or get stuck on Lake Shore Drive and have some fireman deliver the baby.

Although I can't wait for Barnabas to arrive, I'm pretty happy that it didn't happen like that.