Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Holy Hail!

It was another scorching day in Denver. Thankfully I spent the day inside the air-conditioned donation center, and reluctantly left the cool comfort to begin my journey home for the day. The temperatures had come down a little as the clouds rolled in, and I was enjoying the change as I stood on Monaco waiting for the 65 bus. Clad in shorts and a tank top, I began to worry a little as the clouds got darker and the bus officially became late. Summer storms can roll in quickly, and I cursed myself for having switched bags and not putting my rain jacket in the bag I was now carrying. As the first rain drop fell it became a race against time. If the bus showed up immediately, I would still have time to make it to the Hampden light rail station, where there was a tunnel and shelter from the rain. A young girl with big hair joined me under the tree as we waited for the bus, and just as the rain began to really fall we saw the bus pulling up to the light.

Less than a quarter mile down the road the rain turned to hail, and within a half mile the hail was the size of my thumb. The pounding on the top of the bus sounded like the ice balls would come right through, and outside the scene was a white out, but with hail so thick we couldn’t see. The hail grew bigger and bigger, and the bus driver began pulling over to pick people up who were not waiting at the bus stop, but were just trying to get out of the brutal hail. One woman was dressed only in a small sun dress, and when we stopped for her she was crying and nearly hysterical. We stopped to pick up two women, one older and one with special needs. They had several suitcases and a rolling cart. As soon as the driver opened the doors two male passengers jumped off the bus and rushed out into the storm to help the women with their luggage.

The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard before, and as a collective people we were all stunned and unsure of what to do as we pulled into the station. Other travelers boarded with looks of fear and dismay, and one gentleman was rubbing his shoulder where the hail had hit him. We all had a hard decision to make. Should we get off the bus? Or just stay on it and keep riding around until it stopped. Myself and another young man decided to make a run for it. We had a few yards of open space, then down two flights of stairs, and at the bottom was a tunnel where we could take refuge to wait for the train. He looked at me and I looked at him and together we ran off the bus.

And Holy Hail! The first few seconds were not that bad, but then I felt the chunks of ice hit my shoulders and the back of my legs. It was a searing hot pain where they hit, and some of them were jagged so I was sure they were tearing through my flesh. Halfway down the stairs I regretted my decision. As I hit the bottom of the stairs and the entryway to the tunnel, it was like a scene out of a horror show. Dozens of people were standing just inside the tunnel, ankle deep in water and hail. They encouraged us as we ran toward them, and the masses parted to let the newest refugees into the space of safety. Some of them had looks of sympathy for us on their faces, while others clearly thought we were fools. An older man offered me his handkerchief to dry off with, and as I wiped down my arms I noticed huge red welts where I had been hit. Others gathered around to tend to our wounds, or more accurately to see the damage.

We huddled in the tunnel as the carnage continued above us, the sound was so loud we couldn’t hear each other speak. Body language was all we had to communicate. I saw young men helping the elderly people, and business men huddling with the families and little children. Two people had taken up post at the top of the stairs, and hollered down to us below whenever a train came along. As soon as they announced the E line to Lincoln was pulling up, myself and dozens of others ran up the stairs to board the train. Once again safe and moving in the direction of home, we laughed and shared our horror stories with those on the train. Despite the welts and one small scrape on my leg, it was a great experience to see my fellow humans come together, especially after all the violence that has occurred in the world lately. There was no race, sex or age in that tunnel. There were only people. People being beaten and held hostage by hail.

Amazingly, as is common in Colorado, when I hopped off the train at the Arapahoe station to wait for Robert, the sun was shining and the only reminder of my harrowing ordeal was the sweet smell of wet earth and warm summer sun.

July 16, 2016 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment





I knew the birth of my first grandchild would be a life-changing event, but the circumstances surrounding her pending arrival have become historical. Petrichor, or the “Scent of Rain,” is the name my lovely daughter and her mate have chosen to bestow upon her, and for months now we have all embraced it, with rainstorms bringing smiles to our faces.

Apparently little Petra is demanding the level of attention worthy of her, and the entire state of Colorado is experiencing the scent of rain, as half the state is flooding, including Longmont, the home she will be coming into. Historical levels of rain have fallen this week, as Petra gets into position to be born. Mountain towns have been flooded and cut off from the rest of the world, and roads have been washed away, stranding motorists and homeowners. Rain has fallen for nearly a week, with no end in sight.


September 13, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Singin’ in the Rain


          I officially declared the end of bad weather today, with a little encouragement from the internet weather report. Tired of the cold and packing my backpack around full of gloves, hats and jackets, I took a leap of faith and ditched the backpack. Karma gave me a delightful new Coach messenger bag, which I was dying to try out and show off. With the morning sun shining through my window, I optimistically loaded my new bag, donned my lightweight Columbia jacket, and headed out the door.

          It was indeed a beautiful day. The sun shone, the temperatures were near 70, and my new bag performed well, and looked awesome. Until about 4 p.m. With two hours left at the office, the biggest, blackest clouds I have ever seen starting coming over the horizon. I searched the office for an umbrella, but remembered we had sent all of them on to the store. The temperature was still pretty warm, and no drops of rain had fallen by the time I left at six. The dark cloud remained at bay as I took the 65 to the Orchard station, and I decided to take the two mile walk home.

          As soon as I cross the skybridge over the freeway and began walking through the Technical Center, an ominous feeling surrounded me. The air changed, and suddenly all the birds were silent. Behind me the entire sky was black, yet to my left, and in front of me, the sun was shining. I knew I had about 35 minutes of walking, and thought it would be pretty close before the black cloud opened up and drenched me. I walked faster, the imagined sense of doom forcing my legs to move quickly. Planning ahead for the important issue, I was deep in thought about how I could protect my new bag from the rain when it hit.

          Suddenly the sky lit up with lighting, followed directly by a loud clap of thunder that made my teeth rattle. I jumped and yelped, and picked up my pace. I rationalized that there were plenty of buildings and trees that were much taller than I, that surely would attract the lightning first. I imagined myself as small as I could be, and continued on. I was not quite halfway home when I felt the first drops of rain. I quickly unzipped my jacket, pulled my bag tight against my body, and zipped my jacket back up. With my bag protected, I began to enjoy the rain falling on my head. I’d read somewhere that rain water is good for your hair, and since it wasn’t cold I decided I had no reason to care.

          The initial drizzle wet the ground enough that I could smell the wet dirt, and the grass seemed greener immediately. The scent of pine as I passed the trees was strong, and the smell made me think of Spirit Lake, my favorite place on the planet. I thought of the upcoming family reunion there, and seeing everyone, and of my future, and my daughter and my growing grandchild. I inhaled deeper and felt my heart swell even more. I couldn’t help but smile, and as Eddie Rabbit played in my headphone, I was suddenly strutting and loving the rain. Each drop seemed to wash away all my cares, and I felt lighter as I walked.

          I soon found myself singing out loud to “I Love a Rainy Night,” and maybe I danced a little bit through the stretch of path that is hidden from the road. The stretch is littered with bunnies scurrying all over, and I danced and sang to them as I passed. I would love to know what they were thinking of the singing lady in the rain.

May 10, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment