WATER, WIND AND SPIN – My Go-round With the June, 1981 Minneapolis Tornado

It's prime tornado season here in southern Minnesota. (From May through July we average 41 twisters each year.) 

I've been fascinated with tornadoes since I was a boy, and find it pretty ironic that, while I've still never seen a twister, I have, indeed, been in one. This post marks 25 years since that unforgettable experience.

A DRAINING EXPERIENCE
It’s June 14, 1981—a Sunday—a bit before 4 PM. I’m upstairs in my little house on 16th Avenue South, Minneapolis, chipping away 60 years of paint that's lost its grip on a window sill. Though it’s far from taxing work, I’m sweating.

The air outside, and even more so inside—on the second floor of a non-air-condi-
tioned house—is thick with humidity. I’m grateful for the occasional waft of breeze that finds me.

The work is pleasant. I’m accomplishing something, listening to some nice Hall & Oates on the stereo, and Bess, my sweet black lab, is lying on the rug beside me, panting.

At one point, I notice it’s getting kind of dark outside, and that now those breezes are holding their breath. You can almost smell the rain coming. Oh well, I figure, I’ll work until I feel it on my hands.

 A few minutes later the gunmetal sky and everything I can see out the window has taken on an eerie greenish cast. I realize this can’t be good.

I don’t remember hearing the civil defense sirens going off. Just that soon it’s raining, then hailing. Then the air starts churning…and that’s when I hear it.

          I picture the massive, vacuum-cleaning
          vortex swirling overhead.

SO MUCH DUST

Nearly everyone who’s lived through a tor-
nado says they heard an unearthly rumbling heading toward them. Like a freight train. That’s exactly what I hear. Bess hears it too and gets really squirrelly.
 
I’d always wished I could see a twister. I admired those daredevils who tear along back roads in Kansas, Oklahoma and the Texas Panhandle to document them. So here’s my moment, I'm thinking; I’m about to be in the middle of one. But I can tell you, what I’m experiencing is not a thrill.

IMAGE: The Weather Channel

I imagine the massive, vacuum-cleaning vortex swirling overhead.** And here’s this flimsy little house, these two minute creatures helpless in its path. If it’s an F4 or F5, we’re like so much dust.

I take the cues and start down to the basement. First I shut the window, and I feel my ears pop as if something just sucked all the air out of the house. In the kitchen I grab some candles and my portable radio, and by the time Bess and I reach the cel-
lar it’s like we’re under a trestle and the train is thundering right over us.

     The entire roof of the three-story apartment
     building next door gets lifted off and dropped
     across my back yard and garage.

FOREST FOR THE TREES
We’re not in the basement for more than a few minutes when the ominous roar ebbs. And we still have a roof over our heads! I head cautiously up the stairs and, thank God, everything appears intact.

It’s when I go outside that I see the destruction. Eighty-foot, half-century-old trees ripped from the ground. Cars piled on one another. Large sheets of drywall and other building materials strewn in the street. (I later find out they’re from the Sears yard a mile away.) And the entire roof of the three-story apartment building next door lifted off and dropped across my back yard and garage.

IMAGE: teapots happen

• The so-called Har Mar tornado, rated an F-3 with winds reaching nearly 200 miles per hour, was on the ground for 26 minutes.

• The human toll: two fatalities, 6 serious injuries, more than 80 minor injuries. (Experts considered it miraculous that these numbers weren't much higher.)
• Other impact: $47 million in property damage; 1,300 homes, 50 businesses and 400-plus vehicles damaged or destroyed; 3,500 trees killed; some 30,000 customers without power.*

So I’ve finally experienced my tornado, up close and personal. I suppose that affords me certain bragging rights. The good fortune of having survived it is not lost on me, but I'm also disappointed that I never saw it. 

Maybe this tornado season I’ll get that chance (from a safe distance this time).
                                               ~       •      ~       •      ~      

* Storm data thanks to CBS News, WCCO and Minnesota Public Radio, and
   Hennepin County Emergency Management.

** I should write a post just about all the ways air acts like water. Suffice it 
to say for now that how water drains from a sink or bathtub, how it swirls—counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere—is exactly the way air acts during nearly all tornadoes. And yes, just like water, most tornadoes spin clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere.

I BEG YOUR POLLEN – The Joyous Succession of Summer Flowers

The other day a friend and I were comparing notes on our daily walks. He won-
dered how I, as Mr. Wonder himself, manage to spot something new to photo-
graph and write about nearly every day. 

I explained that if, instead of simply waiting to be struck by wonder, one seeks and expects it—a notion I call SEEING GENEROUSLY—there’s always something new to see.

 Each plant hands off the duty of beauty to the next.

PASSING THE BATON
One example, I explained, is the splendid sequence of flowers that bloom through-
out the summer here in Minnesota. No sooner does one species shed its blossoms—turning to the work of reproduction—than another’s unfurl. 

It’s like a bloomin’ relay race; each plant hands off the duty of beauty to the next. Something's always flowering afresh, serving up something new to see, smell and carefully touch. 

First, the heralds of spring: Siberian squill and snowdrops. 



Then, in order:

• Crocus, hyacinth and daffodils.
• American tulips and Virginia bluebells

• Common lilacs, followed by late lilacs
• Bleeding hearts and lilies of the valley
• Peonies

• Irises
• Hydrangea
• Lilies and gladiolus
  
  

• Bee balm and coneflowers
• Asters and dahlias
• Chrysanthemums

Of course, this is just a sampling; there are so many other plants—including trees—that join the bloomin’ cavalcade. 

Catalpa flowers 

CYCLES OF LIFE
Besides just flowers, lots of things change during a Minnesota summer: Bird song, smells, the shades of green bedecking trees… Even people’s faces. So don’t let your walks get stale. Look for wonder, expect wonder, not just in all these plants and crit-
ters, but in change itself. 

And don’t let this, another of Nature’s countless lessons on life, be lost on you: 
We all bloom at different times too!

STRING OF PEARLS – The Sequence of My Perfectly Imperfect Days

DRAWING: Albrecht Dürer

Each night as I settle into bed, I say a prayer of gratitude for the day’s blessings. From the most profound gifts,
like peace, freedom and the health of my loved ones; to somewhat less vital ones, like a safe, warm, comfortable place to sleep; to such a trivial gift as the smell of the lotion I just rubbed on my hands. 

Lately, this prayer’s started to feel pretty repetitive; it’s been much the same script every night for like a year and 
a half. Life’s been so good during this stretch that I’m wondering if my gratitude’s become so humdrum as to lose its sincerity. I mean how pure can one’s appreciation be for things one’s seldom, if ever, had to do without?

I ask myself if, God forbid, my fortunes should turn south—I get sick, a friend dies…whatever—would I still be able to feel grateful despite the pain? That doesn't mean I'd deny the emotions. I'd acknowledge and process them, but I'd also cele-
brate how many, many nearly perfect days there have been.

   Hey, I remind myself, it’s still a string of pearls.

PHOTO: Pearly Luster

VARIED TREASURE
So, to hone my thanksgivings, take my blessings less for granted, I’ve been picturing each of my most fortunate days as a pearl. (I’ve amassed quite a string—by my rough calculation, about 25,000 of them since I was old enough to even think about gratitude. That’s an array of pearls the length of two-and-a-half football fields. Or, I suppose, if I made each pearl repre-
sent a year, I'd have it down to the length of a nice double-loop necklace.)

Of course, strung here and there throughout my life are a few outliers of, how shall I say it, varying luster. Some are misshapen; some are off-color or have obvious blemishes. A handful represent such heavy hurt or sorrow that they’ve broken and fallen off.

PHOTO: shutterstock

But hey, I remind myself, it’s still a string of pearls. 

It may be far from perfect, but the precious little orbs scooch together to fill in the gaps; I turn some so you can’t see the flaws. And I still have this unique, incredibly beautiful, perfectly imperfect treasure. The miracle’s not just the awesomeness in aggregate, but that of each individual pearl. A reminder of my need to take it—good or bad—one day at a time. 

PHOTO: Katie Carrin Jewelry

HOW ‘BOUT YOU?
Let’s make this a conversation. How do you consider the good days in your life? How have you managed to weather great hardship and still feel gratitude for your better days? 

            “Those who look for seashells will find seashells; 
              those who open them will find pearls.”
               AL-GHAZALI

COMMAND PERFORMANCE – Americans’ Willing Servitude To Cameras

Smile! 

Thus begins every child's career as an actor.

It wasn’t always this way. Look at portraits and group shots from the early days of photography. Folks look as I suppose they must have felt at the time: not scowling, but certainly not smiling.

        

So how did we get from that norm to today’s camera culture where kids, many of them now adults, feel that whenever they see a lens they must not simply smile, but start acting?

Is a child hamming it up for the camera really big deal? Not if it were just a few children on a few occasions. But the fact that it’s virtually every child on every occasion says something troubling about our culture.

DOUBLE EXPOSURE
One reason for those stiff, old sepia-tone poses was that, until the turn of the 20th century, the technology of photography required subjects to stand perfectly still for as long as a minute. With the development of inexpensive, hand-held cameras and faster-exposure film, taking pictures became ever less formal, more spontaneous.     

PHOTO: China Daily

Fast-forward to the turn of the 21st century. With 
the wide availability of digital photography, not 
only did exposure times become insignificant, but snapshots began to lose their preciousness. One could afford to take a hundred shots and throw away 
ninety-nine.

So, if a parent didn’t like their child’s expression opening a Christmas present in one shot, they could coach a better look of delight in the next.

  They strike the pose of someone they want others 
  to think they are.

OH-H-H THE BOREDOM!
Besides parents’ prompting, kids learn photo-emoting through simple observation. They see their family and friends hamming it up for selfies. They see it in movies and on TV, where deadpan is death. 

And then, of course, there’s social media, where the last thing kids want is for their friends to see them not being cool and having fun. So they strike the pose of someone they want others to think they are. 

PHOTO: iStockPhoto

Next time you watch any live—or taped-live—TV show (SNL and the so-called talk shows come to mind) watch what hosts and guests do while they’re being introduced. They’ve obviously learned that inaction induces boredom. And boredom is the media’s kiss of death. 

So they animate. A little dance, engaging hand gestures, mugging it up for the camera. Always moving; always an engaging expression.

THE WORD ESCAPES ME
The penchant for performance even shows up in our use of language. Used to be, when folks quoted someone, they’d use that person’s words. If those words were especially colorful they might have attached some colorful modifiers to describe how they said those words. 

Then in the late 70s and early 80s, with the advent of the “me decade” and the Valley Girl craze, the words “He/she said...” gave way to “He/she goes…” And instead of describing how a person said something, the adjectives gave way to...
you guessed it, acting. Tell gave way to show.

         

           How have we become not just the 
           entertained, but the entertainers?

ALWAYS ON
These days nearly wherever we go, indoors our out, we’re on camera. Someone’s always watching: the police, security guards, Google Street View vehicles, folks monitoring their Ring doorbell camera. I fear this omnipresent scrutiny is making us feel self-conscious nearly all the time. Obliged, even subconsciously, to be putting on a show.

If we’re not there quite yet, we soon will be. The point where we can’t tell any more whether Jimmy’s or Jill’s expression reflects genuine emotion or just their performance for the “reality” show we’re all starting to accept as everyday life. 
(By the way, “reality show” must surely go down in history as the oxymoron of 
our age.) 

Some folks will do just about anything to be on TV. Including, like most of their reality show favorites, making utter fools of themselves. Is this just light-hearted fun, or does it augur an age in which human beings blithely trade their every real, God-given faculty for stuff that’s artificial—yes, including artificial “intelligence.”

       Maybe…they feel better seeing others 
       who are even more pathetic than they are.

MIRROR IMAGE 
We’ve become so inured of performance in our own lives that many of us now expect it from others. Most notably, in the election, by a large minority of Ameri-
cans, of a U.S. president who has mastered absolutely nothing…but performance.

IMAGE: Busy Beaver Button Museum

This shallow, soulless little man has, more than any public figure in my lifetime, blurred the distinction between fame and qualifica-
tion, performance and lying. He’s famous only for his fame. How sad, when one might expect honesty to be a key asset for a political leader, that so many Americans have chosen performers for that role.

We know this problem has been building for decades, since now we have senior citizens (Trump is prime example) who have never lived a millisecond of reality in their lives. No looks, no brains, no talent, no humanity… It’s all an act. Trump, if nothing else, has validated his followers’ preference of show over substance.

This is the kind of audience that’s made the Real Housewives conglomerate a billion-plus-dollar enterprise. Maybe it’s that their own lives are so miserable and they feel better seeing others who are even more pathetic than they are. Folks whose job, it seems, is a celebration of ignorance, selfishness and vulgarity. 

PHOTO: Kathy Boos / Bravo

              I don’t think I’d relinquish control 
              of my body and soul.

SPORTS PROGRAMMING 
When I watch TV sports I always cringe when the cameras swing around for shots of fans. It’s as if someone flipped the “On” switch on a bunch of robots. Folks suddenly forget cheering on their team, stop mid-sentence chatting with their seat mates, and start performing.

PHOTO: Val Montanez / The Kansan

You know the moves: the aggressive bobbing of the head; the impassioned “Yeah!;” the “We’re-number-one!” finger; the jersey grab-and-shake. It all happens on cue, as if scripted by TV sports producers. If you don’t emote on demand, the producer won’t cut to that camera. And there goes your audition for the big time. 

And then there’s the Jumbotron. Your mug appears up there and you don’t perform, expect to be ridiculed by thousands of your fellow fans.

PHOTO: KickinItWithCarly / TikTok

Really? Shouldn’t folks be devoting every second in those $150 seats to enjoying the game and the com-
pany of those around them, instead of letting that ESPN camera flick the switch on their fake,”reality show” selves? 

I wonder what I’d do if, God forbid, that should happen to me. I’d like to think I’d not change my behavior at all. Okay, maybe I’d nod or offer a little wave, but I don’t think I’d simply relinquish control of my body and soul. Or would I?

Would you? We'd love to hear what you think; leave a comment.

LABOR OF LOVE – Celebrating My 600th Post

Have you heard about the new twelve-step program for the habitually long-winded? Yeah, On-And-On...Anon.

Well, sometimes it feels like that's what I've been doing here at One Man's Wonder these past few years. I hope I've been picking my battles and choosing my words well enough so you don't agree.

FROM DUTY TO DEVOTION
It seems like just yesterday that I first stuck my toe into this blogging ocean. My first post, So This Ant Walks Into a Bar, got one comment.

At that time, I was grateful just for the support of my family and a few of my closest friends who—despite their shyness about leaving comments—dutifully came to see what Jeff's new diversion was all about.

    Six hundred posts, some 1,700,000 page views and 78 countries later, 
    I'm feeling pretty encouraged. I think I'll stick with it!

And speaking of encouragement, that, besides the sheer joy I find in the writing, is really what's kept me going—from those requisite visits of loved ones, to the small leaps of faith made by my followers, to all the "lurkers" who tell me they follow me anonymously, to the cherished relationships I've formed with fellow bloggers, authors and other kindred spirits. This online community is amazingly generous and kind-spirited.

Thank you, everyone! I'll make you a deal: You keep checking in at One Man's Wonder, leave me a comment when the spirit moves you, and share your favorite posts with others; I redouble my efforts to keep posting reflections and inspiration worthy of your interest.  Deal?

HOME DELIVERANCE – Presence From Afar

"Conjure" is a fascinating verb. Usually, it means calling upon some kind of spirit 
to appear, as if by magic. But it can also have a far less occult meaning.

That’s the kind of conjuring I do when I pray for my loved ones. Now, just so I don’t lose you in a fog of abstraction, I'm okay if we just call it visualizing, im-
agining, calling to mind…whatever.  

THE POWER OF PRESENCE
I believe there’s immense power in one’s physical presence. It’s what drew me to become a hospice volunteer. I knew I couldn’t reverse anyone’s terminal diagnosis; I didn’t presume I could end anyone’s pain.

But I did believe I could simply sit with someone. Keep them company. Help them find meaning, or at least a degree of comfort, in their precious days. If they could still communicate, I knew I could listen. Even if they couldn’t, I could still relate by sharing my thoughts, empathiz-
ing, caring. Language wouldn’t be essential.

The power of presence isn’t just some airy, theoretical notion. There’s scientific proof that the company of a caring person promotes health, healing, and a sense of connection.*

 It feels like I’m delivering the intention in person.

TELEPRESENCE
It’s one thing to be fully present with someone who’s right next to you. Where you can see, hear and feel each other. But how does one bring that kind of immediacy to bear on someone who’s 1,200 miles away? That’s what I aim to do when I pray. 

The trick, if you want to call it that, is that I don’t simply ask God ** to be present with my loved ones; instead, I will myself—with God’s help—to be present with each of them in turn. (I believe God is happy to employ me as a deputy.) 

ILLUSTRATION: dreamstime

There’s nothing all that inscrutable about it. I simply imagine the person’s face, and let that image meld with other memory to evoke what it’s like being with them. Their demeanor, their attitude, the spirit they exude. 

Then, once that virtual connection’s established, I use it as a conduit to send them my love and best wishes. It feels way more direct than simply putting a wish out there to the Universe and hoping it finds its way to a loved one. This way, it feels like I’m delivering the intention in person.

       The good news is that it might just work.

LOST AND FOUND
After doing this for a while I wondered, if I can project my virtual presence to someone I know, why couldn’t I do so to a stranger? Thus began my spiritual reaching out to folks who need the power of human presence more than anyone: 
those lost in the woods or at sea, buried deep inside collapsed mines, or trapped under earthquake or bomb-strike rubble.

IMAGE: Soldier of Fortune

In this case, my intention, my prayer, is for that poor soul to actually feel not just the presence of whatever their higher power, but my presence. To know, without doubt, that, even in their hopelessness, there’s this one fellow human being who, despite the untold miles, is thinking of them at that very moment, wishing them well, encouraging them not to give up. 

If my “friends and family” conjuring raises a few eyebrows, I imagine this audacious version might seem quite over the top. The good news is that it might just work. The other good news is that I doubt anyone can prove that it doesn't.

PHOTO: 9News, Sydney

   
         Sometimes you have to believe it to see it.

LEAP OF FAITH  
Of course, as with any endeavor—especially one this intangible—faith is the linchpin. Sometimes, contrary to that old skeptic’s adage, you have to believe it to see it. ***

And I do believe it. You can too.

              “Your presence is a miracle.” ~ THICH NHAT HANH

* Psychology Today

** “God” is the term I use to identify my higher power. Yahweh, Jehovah, Creator, Allah, Great Spirit…any title will do. I believe they’re all names for the same thing.

*** The expression, “You have to believe it to see it,” is often attributed to former National Geographic photographer, DeWitt Jones.

IMMISCIBLE EVIDENCE – Wonders of the Air/Water Interface

Two elements: air and water. At first glance, they seem about as different as they could be. They’re entirely different states of matter, after all. Even so, consider the surprising number of similarities:

     • They’re both classical elements—those believed by ancient Greek, Indian and 
        other cultures to constitute all matter in the universe.

PHOTO: CK-12.org

     • Neither has a fixed shape.
     • Both flow.
     • Both are subject to gravity.* 
     • Each is rendered visible just by the stuff 
        it carries, and by certain kinds of light.
     • Both are vital for life.
     • Each infuses the other.** 
     • Both suffocate denizens of the other.
     • Both refract light.***
     • Both acquire new properties when heat-
        ed or cooled—including changing state.****
     • Each, unless contained, spreads to fill whatever space gravity compels it to.
     • Both are harmed by abuse from the only creature capable of destroying them.   
          The fascination comes down 
          to part science, part magic.

So…if water and air are so similar, why is the interface between them—think the surfaces of lakes, streams or oceans, of raindrops, of the glass of water on my desk—so complex, so fascinating?

A decent answer would require volumes. But, at least to this inexpert witness to wonder, it comes down to part science, part magic. 

ILLUSTRATION: ConceptVis.app

THE SCIENCE
The first and perhaps most obvious impact of this air/water junction is their interaction’s generation of weather and climate. You know, evaporation, conden-
sation, precipitation…and repeat. But there’s more 
than that going on.

Turns out the water cycle melds with a carbon cycle, which finds carbon dioxide at the water surface—defined as a one- to two-nanometer membrane—transforming into bicarbonate and carbonate ions. †

GRAPHIC: Journal of Physical Chemistry

Atmospheric scientists have also found that these ion-to-ion interactions become "stickier" near the air-water interface, resulting in proteins unfolding, aggregating, or assembling into significantly different structures. ††

The compendium of scientific findings continues with a list of mind-boggling processes like peptide synthesis, phosphorylation, oligomerization, colloid mobilization, protein unfolding or aggregation †††…I’ll spare you the rest.

     To unlock the mystical properties...it took 
     a ten-year-old with a cane fishing pole.

ILLUSTRATION: Norman Rockwell

THE MAGIC
It took lots of science and technology to discover those arcane properties. To unlock the mystical properties of the air-water interface, though, it 
took a ten-year-old with a cane fishing pole.

I’d throw an angleworm deep into the lake, this hidden, alien world, connected by a thin filament held between my fingers. Then I’d wait. If there was life down there in that cold, dark, liquid place, it eventually sent me a message through the fiber. 
If I was lucky I’d get to meet the sender. ‡

That cryptic contact seemed to me no less otherworldly than receiving a faint message from deep space.

PHOTO: Warner Brothers

     What other substance can…bathe an 
     infant’s head and carve the Grand Canyon?

ICEBERG IN MY COFFEE
As this insight might suggest, when it comes to air and water, I’m partial to water. For one thing, I spent nine months submerged in it just before I was a kid. 

For another, air seems almost too easy to take for granted—except, I suppose, when one’s flying…or suffocating. I mean which wakes you up faster, a cool breeze or a splash of cold H2O? 

I love the capricious relationship water has with other elements. With light, it can bend it like a prism, absorb it like a sponge or reflect it like a mirror. Percolating into soil, water provides the nectar of life for nearly 300,000 species of plants. 

ILLUSTRATION: FreePic

What other substance can both render a Winslow Homer masterpiece and torture a suspected terrorist? Transform itself into the exquisite intricacy of a snowflake and the Titanic mass of an iceberg? Bathe an infant’s head…and carve the Grand Canyon?

PHOTO: FreePic

While I realize the Law of Conservation of Matter holds for all the elements, I’m especially captivated by how it applies to water. For example, the possibility that a molecule of water melted from that iceberg that sank the Titanic might reside, for now, in the coffee I’m sipping.

THICK WATER
As with most of my musings here, digging up answers about the seam between water and air also uncovers more questions:

     • Is a splash caused by something falling into the water the obverse of that 
       caused by something like a fish jumping out? 
     • If water can vanish into thin air, could one say that air—also absorbable by 
       its counterpart vanishes into thick water?
     • Why does water as a mist cool us, while as humidity it makes us feel hotter?
     • When we refer to the surface of a lake, isn’t it just as true to call it the sur-
       face of the air above the lake?
     • Is the only difference between swimming and flying the speed at which you 
       can do it? 

IMAGE: Medium.com

When you let loose your child-like sense of wonder, what do you notice about air, water and their interaction? I and the couple of thousand people who stop by here every day would love to hear your thoughts! Just click on the “comments” link below.

* Because air has mass, it is attracted by Earth's gravity, which gives it weight and creates atmospheric pressure. Gravity keeps the atmosphere from drifting into space and pulls air towards the ground, making it denser at lower altitudes. 
Google AI Overview

** Air absorbs water vapor (humidity) from liquid water (evaporation), with warmer air holding much more, while water absorbs gases like oxygen from the air (dissolving), a process enhanced by surface area and turbulence, both crucial for the water cycle and aquatic life  –  Google AI

*** Air bends (refracts) light just as water does, though generally to a much lesser degree. Both media bend light due to changes in speed caused by density differences, a process called refraction. Air bends light significantly when there are sharp density changes, such as that of hot air above pavement (the cause of mirages). 

**** Air freezes solid, but only at –362 degrees Fahrenheit at standard atmospheric pressure. This, of course, is not possible in our planet’s natural conditions, but it’s commonly seen in scientific and industrial labs. – Google AI

† Jin Qian, Staff Scientist, Chemical Sciences Division, Berkeley Lab.

†† "The Promise and Intrigue of Where Water Meets Air" – Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, 
June 5, 2014

††† “Colloid mobilization and transport in groundwater”
Joseph N. Ryan and Menachen Elimelech – ScienceDirect.com

‡ Over the past few years, the wonder of communicating with fish has tarnished considerably as I’ve realized that those “cryptic” tugs and jumps, which since childhood have felt like fun, are no such thing for the fish. I now believe I have no right to enjoy the pain and terror of another of God’s creatures.