“You are not going out with that boy unless his parents are driving and that's that. I'm not just Spitting Grits here, young lady!”

. . . My father, John Thomas Cravey, USAF, to me in 1956.

Facing It

Right now, on May 2 in Alabama, it is 50 degrees and expected to fall into the low 40s. The strange temperature will likely break records for May 2-3. And thousands are without power, homeless, in damaged houses, in shelters, with no warm clothes.

I knew I had to face it, the devastation. I had to go to the pharmacy across the river, as my regular one in the Alberta City area of Tuscaloosa is inaccessible. Then I had to pick up Joanna Leigh at her school, very near the football stadium on The University of Alabama campus.

I took my video camera. I thought that trying to take video might distract me from the awful sight I knew I would see. I hope to post the video tomorrow or the next day.

When I rounded the curve on Hargrove Road heading east, I looked toward my friend Nathan’s condo. It was gone. I wanted to throw up.

From Hargrove road, I could see the hospital. That should have been impossible, against the laws of physics or something, but there it was, with nothing to block the view.

Tomorrow will be one week since the horrendous tornado that has torn our town into this disaster area. In places it looks like Lebanon looked at its low point.

And it will go down to 43 degrees tonight. In May, in Alabama. That’s supposed to be nearly impossible, too.

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