"Just call me Earl."
Beady eyed Herring Gull conducting storm watch.
I'm sure all of you know that there is a big ole' storm barrelling toward the eastern coast of the United States. The storm's name is Earl. Wouldn't it be just like a guy named Earl to ruin your life? No offense to the perfectly decent guys out there with that moniker. However, there is a reason that The Dixie Chicks wrote a song about killing a guy named Earl. Most Earls turn out to be bad news.
I am a weather watcher. It's not an accident that, to my knowledge, I'm the only person to photograph a tornado in progress in Maine. I was at the ready with the camera and glued to the events out the window when it erupted. The "Thanksgiving Twister", as we like to think of her, also imparted to me a tangible sense of how bad the weather can be and very suddenly. It marked me with a lasting impression of anxious urgency which is heightened immensely when they start squawking on the T.V. about the monster's advance across the ocean. As much as I hate the relentless chatter, I am drawn like a moth to a flame. I can't help but watch the computer tracts marching across the screen and the magnificent cloud photographs taken from space. 
I have always been interested in the weather and what makes it. One of my favorite books is about identifying cloud formations as part of anticipating weather events. I'm a member of The Cloud Appreciation Society and proud of it. It fascinates me that the huge, rotating clouds coming across the Atlantic start out in the African desert. Earl will be carrying dust from the sands of the Sahara.
Of course, living on a rock sticking into the Atlantic ocean prompts me to be more than a passive observer. Not just a weather voyeur, watching from the comfort of my living room as events unfold and approach; I'm emotionally involved!. After all, there is nothing but ocean between my recliner and Morocco. When you look at a world globe with that in mind, it's sobering. I can almost feel the grit of those Saharan sands in my teeth as the storm gets closer. And closer, and closer. But, I'll wait until the wind whips up and the rain is slashing before I get serious about putting away any patio furniture. Though I'm a nervous wreck, I'm also a procrastinator. I work best under a ridiculous deadline.
With that in mind, I'm still printing and matting photographs for the Boothbay Regional Arts show on Saturday. Yep, art on the waterfront under a lovely, white tent. It ought to be interesting when Earl gets his teeth into that tent and our photographs ragging it all like a dog with a bone! We're Mainers in our camera club, so we are waiting it out to see what develops - no cancelling too early for us! Wish us luck (we do have a rain date of Sunday the 5th). Now, I must get back to finding the remote control and the weather channel - background music for my photo matting.
"Duck! Take cover! We're all gonna die!"