Watch the drama that accompanies this message: The Cooking Lesson

Mary Kassian: I loved thunderstorms when I was a little girl, though we only got a few of them each summer in western Canada where I grew up. But whenever I heard the skies begin to clap and rumble, I’d quickly go and grab a blanket and head outside.

There was a narrow strip of dry concrete just outside the front door where the overhang of the roof kept it dry and kept the rain from falling. There I nestled into the corner and tucked myself in and settled down to watch the show.

Sometimes I’d stay in that cocoon for hours, fascinated by the jagged light flashes that would split open the sky. After each flash, I’d count, “One, one thousand; two, one thousand; three, one thousand,” until the inevitable rumble interrupted my tally.

My mom would usually poke her head out of the door to check on me, and she’d give me a big mug of steaming hot chocolate. And, if I was lucky, there’d be a big, puffy marshmallow floating in the froth.

The spectacle of lightning absolutely amazed me. To me, it was better than any New Year’s Eve fireworks display. I was wowed!

I recall one big lightning storm that fired down hail stones the size of golf balls, and some of them, the size of hard balls. I thought it was hilarious. I went out to my dad’s garage and threw on a raincoat, …