Amy, the more attractive (and probably smarter) half of Chateau Thompson, thinks I’m nuts and, granted, there is substantial evidence to support her theory. And while a number of my manic acts drive her up the closest available wall, none does so better than my penchant for wandering out into thunderstorms to take pictures of lightning.

It doesn’t help when I point out that Benjamin Franklin, a man much smarter than either of us, actually flew a kite in a thunderstorm to prove the existence of electricity. Not at all. The wails and moans about the sheer stupidity of my forays into storms can often reach banshee proportions.

I fail to see the reasons for her booming protestations. I take reasonable precautions. In most cases, I shoot out the back of our SUV (with the window open of course). The window flips up, which offers reasonable protection against the elements. If lightning should, by chance, seek out and strike a Jeep Liberty setting on a hilltop, I should be protected. At least I think so.

Nonetheless, the thunderstorms that roared through the area this morning provided a nice show of nature’s energy.

Mother Nature at her bombastic best — but nothing compared to the storm I will face when the real master of the house gets up and checks the Web.