The other night, Mower and my parents took Bubba to the movies and Handsome laid down for a late nap. I snuggled on the couch with my beloved laptop, and heard what I thought was a low-flying jet overhead. It continued for longer than it should have to be a jet, so I went into the backyard and looked to see what was going on. We occassionally do see fighter jets flying by, but for one to be hanging overhead making that sound? I was pretty surprised to see this:

I, of course, ran to get my camera and 70-300 mm lens, and stood on my electrical box with the dogs going nuts at my feet, trying to get pictures. It looked like it was behind the school by us, but maybe was a mile away.

I called my friend Hot Stuff, who said she was surprised I could see it, because it was behind her house, even further away from my house than I thought. I had assumed it was between ours, and she said it was probably a neighborhood away from her, three miles away from me. I went into my neighbor's backyard to take better shots, calling them and apologizing for my fat ass on their kid's swingset.

The whooshing continued, as well as huge flare-ups. I thought maybe a plane went down, but talked with another neighbor who said that whooshing coming and going was probably a gas line and gas pockets.

I kept on the phone with Hot Stuff, who saw on the news that it was a gas line explosion, and there was a possible evacuation needed. Luckily for her gimpy hip, they said that they had it under control and the residents just needed to stay inside with the windows and doors shut. Hot Stuff still had heat and power, so she felt comfortable staying there. I had invited her over so she could show me the hanging from the rafters move that she did with her toy, but she declined, said I had to pay for lessons.

I was fascinated with what I could see, and worried for the people living close as well as being relieved I lived far enough away I didn't need to wake up my poor little Handsome, who has been sick, and try to get out of there with the dogs and a pissed-off 2-yr-old while interrupting Mower and Bubba at the movies. I mean, come on, our personal convienence is way more important than a huge roaring fire that was shooting out of a pipeline from Mexico. They probably wouldn't have gotten a refund for the portion of the movie they would have missed.