Violent thunderstorms, hail, tornado warnings and watches into the night . . . why was I the only member of my family who was petrified? Everyone else idled by the windows and commented genially on the whipping forest and the strange antifreeze-green of the sky.

Now the sky is cloudy blue, the jays are squawking, and the vigorous peonies are still standing tall. So maybe those cool-headed boys were right, or maybe they were just lucky not to be living in Springfield, Massachusetts. Who knows? It is true that fear is not a reliable narrator.