Unlike some, my husband and I heard the tornado sirens loudly and clearly when they blasted a severe weather alarm around midnight on Sept. 11.
We were asleep. Deeply, blissfully, soundly asleep. When suddenly, a low whining, blaring, horn-like sound filled our bedroom.
It was the sound of someone playing a poorly tuned saxophone, or perhaps it was a beagle in pursuit of a rabbit. Perhaps a beagle with a sore throat chasing many rabbits.
It had been a gorgeous summer evening. We’d gone to bed with the windows open. Wide open.
We live about a block from the severe weather siren so to say the sound filled our bedroom would be an understatement.
With the sound of now what seemed like many beagles chasing rabbits playing poorly tuned saxophones reverberating through my head, I wondered the obvious.
“Why are they testing the sirens in the middle of the night?” I put a pillow over my head and went back to sleep …
… until the siren blared again.
“What’s wrong with these people? For the love of God, can’t they test the sirens during business hours?”
After the second round of poorly tuned, saxophone-playing beagle noises shook the room, my husband and I sat up in bed with that “Why are they testing the sirens in the middle of the night?” look on our faces.
Other than the sirens, it was calm. The curtains barely fluttered in the breeze.
“Is this the work of a disgruntled city employee? Is it national-storm-awareness-in-the-middle-of-the-night month? Why is this happening?”
The fog of sleep began to clear. A soft breeze began to blow but in an instant it became a gale-force wind.
Rain pounded the windows. The house shook.
Finally, I understood.
The severe weather sirens were announcing the approach of severe weather. It was time to seek shelter in the basement or an interior room.
With this insight, my husband stepped on to the front porch to see how bad it really was while I pressed my face against the large picture window overlooking the back yard.
“Wow, this is bad,” we agreed as we crawled back in to bed and fell soundly asleep.
Thank goodness for sirens.