My grandfather's ninety-fifth birthday was last week.
And he spent most of it in the closet.
When I called to wish him a happy birthday, the phone rang and rang and rang - a little odd, but maybe they were out? Celebrating, no doubt. Painting the town red. Why ever not?
I would call back later.
I checked Facebook that afternoon and found out that not only was I wrong, I was really wrong. Not only were my grandparents not out kicking up their heels, they were huddled in their bedroom closet with towels wrapped around their heads*, worrying that a tornado would burst through their walls and send them on a spin through the countryside.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa. May this next year not be so tumultous.
*My aunt's idea, to protect from debris. A good one, even if the visual still makes me crack up a little.