Anne and the Branson Leap-Year EF2 Tornado

Leap Year Tornado

My husband and I live in south Springfield, but I work in Branson. As I drove to the downtown area today, broken glass and debris blanketed the sidewalks; shredded business awnings clapped in the breeze, and busy work crews, with their power tools, greeted me on the street.

From my window, I can see the sophisticated Hilton Convention Center looking more like it belongs in Iraq, than Branson. The local news said yesterday’s leap-year tornado blew out more than 200 of the hotel’s windows. Fine custom draperies stuck their tongues out at us through their zigzagged gaping holes, as if daring anyone to rebuild “The Pride of Branson Landing.”

I work as an Office Manager at Branson Lakes Country Realty, and today, the pace was off – very off. There were pressing matters to deal with that had nothing to do with real estate. A downed power line rests on our rear, crumpled carport awning.  The electric company is understandably too busy to notice. And the church next door, whose adjoining roof we share, has a two-ton A/C unit dangling precariously on the pitch. The only thing that is pinning it there is its own A/C’s electrical cord. The owners can’t be reached.

The highlight of my otherwise chaotic day was learning about one of our clients, “Anne.” Anne is a vet who lost her left leg in a motorcycle accident a couple of years ago, and she decided to buy a FNMA mobile home, recently. It fit her budget and her lifestyle, even if it was old and missing important features such as appliances.

From day one, the escrow process had been a nightmare. Instead of closing the end of January like it was supposed to, there was delay after delay.

We finally discovered what the hold-up was — FNMA didn’t actually own the property!  GMAC did. And, GMAC didn’t want to release the title, so they thought our client should just walk away and forget about her dreams. That’s when things started getting ugly.  After all, our client was in a contract with the government who was selling a property they didn’t own. Finally, GMAC conceded. Enough pressure, they’d sign off on the deed.

So, this past Monday, Feb. 27^th, our special lady signed closing docs and proudly picked up her shiny new keys. She agreed to wait one more day, until Tuesday, to move in.

On Wednesday, Feb. 29^th, between 1:30 and 2:00 AM, the “leap-year EF2 tornado” hit hard. Some said they never heard the sirens, and had no warning. The 120+ mile/ hour winds tossed the vet’s mobile home across the street, and ripped off one side in the process.

And today, I learned the best part — she hadn’t moved in yet! The mobile home is demolished, and her insurance isn’t covering everything, but she’s alive. And, that made my chaotic day turn into a very grateful one, indeed.  Her inconvenient purchase turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I’m hoping she’ll get a new, better mobile home soon.

Meet Ms Ermal

Meet Ms. Ermal Medlin, an Alzheimer’s patient, who lived in Galena, Missouri. I became her friend and caretaker for a short time.  I called her “Ms Ermal,” and she called me “Motor  Mouth.”

I think I earned the title, because of reading so many books to her, including the unabridged copy of The Adventures of Huckberry Finn. She seemed more peaceful whenever I read or sang to her.

To the casual observer, Ms. Ermal looked like a useless shell, completely devoid of a “normal” lifestyle. Upon closer observation, the stark realization was – she was still there, and fighting for her life.

This was my first glimpse of the ravishing affects of Alzheimer’s, and I’m grateful for the lessons I learned. Now, my own step-father, Don Bauman, is suffering from the same disease. And having this reference point helps me deal with his struggle easier.

(Below is a little poem I wrote about Ms. Ermal.)

Ms. Ermal Medlin

He Holds the Key

Little bird with fettered wing,

And no more a song to sing.

How she fights against the trap,

This cage that holds her back.

Wispy gray feathers, all askew;

Clouds in her eyes block the view.

Pursed lips, poisoned thoughts,

Questions, so many, is this her lot?

Little bird with furrowed brow,

There must be answers, must be, somehow.

Tormented fears, bottled rage,

All time stands still and disengaged.

The door is locked; the key’s been lost;

Visitors come and visitors watch,

The bird in her cage as she strives to fly;

They watch her, and pity her, and say ‘good-bye’.

And she’s alone again, in this struggle she’s faced,

But she doesn’t realize she’s been graced,

With a special grace that only God can give,

Even through this season she will live.

Fear not, little bird; fear not.

You’re never alone, no, you’re not.

God is near, and yes, He sees,

And hears your constant pleas.

You’re going home, though you’re not ready yet;

A place of no suffering, and no regret.

Songs of joy; supper with the King;

Streets of gold, and angels’ wings.

You’ll sing a new song, one you never knew,

One that’s been promised just for you.

He’s coming soon to set you free;

Since He’s the One that holds the key.

She turned 100 years old on 12/19/08 and went home to Jesus on Easter Day, 2009.

Released!

Scarlotta O’Hare

Scarlotta O’Hare, a Red Morph Owl, likes to roost in our oak tree’s knot-hole-apartment. She thinks it’s the perfect place for an afternoon nap.

Scarlotta O'Hare

She’s the size of a large kitten and I call her Scarlotta O’Hare, because she’s a southern chick who wears scarlet feathers, been known to scare a lotta rabbits, and is always gone with the wind.

She doesn’t really give a hoot that she’s stealing our resident squirrel, “Earl Gray’s” favorite winter retreat. He is clearly put-out, running up and down the branches, making loud scolding noises like an old woman.

 

Earl Gray Scolding Scarlotta

Maybe Earl Gray is warning his family and the birds to stay away while Scarlotta is around. She responds by puffing her camouflaged red and brown feathers in a ball of indifference, and snuggling deeper in the hollow for warmth.

As the sun fades, the frigid temperatures drop even more, and sleepy Scarlotta continues to wait.

Finally, a golden tint is cast over the woodland trees, fields, and even on groggy Scarlotta . The Sundown alarm clock shouts “wake up!” She yawns, opens her eyes

Scarlotta At Sunset

wide, then moves her head in quick, jerky motions from side to side. Her keen hearing tunes into critters rustling underneath layers of dried leaves. As she watches, she listens for the dinner bell.

The next moment has arrived for this stealth-bomber to bid us farewell. She silently swoops down and away, out of sight in the night. A relieved squirrel scurries back to his home and wonders what an owl can find to use her sharp talons on this cold wintry night.

Scarlotta's Big Debut