Before last weekend, everything I knew about tornados I learned from watching "Twister" and "The Wizard of Oz."

"Tornados never touch down in Omaha," Seth said. "They haven't had one here in over 30 years. But they are really interested in the weather here. If the wind starts to blow, they'll spend a whole newscast talking about it. The tornado watch doesn't mean much, but the tornado warning means there is a tornado and you're supposed to go to a shelter like the one in our apartment building. But you don't really need to worry."

He and Jessica had moved to Omaha in January. They live in a nice-but-small two-bedroom apartment with two dogs and no family for hundreds of miles. My wife, Sharon, and I had never been to Nebraska, and it seemed like a good time to visit.

We've had a great time. We spend Friday at the Winter Quarters area and in Council Bluffs, where Sharon connected with her ancestors who were part of the Mormon Battalion.

Then we spent most of a hot and humid Saturday at the Henry Doorly Zoo, which is about the only thing to do in Omaha. After dinner and a rousing game of Catan, Sharon and I settled down in our hotel room to rest from a long day of hard walking.

About 2:30 a.m. I was awakened by the telephone only to find Sharon standing on our balcony surrounded by rain and lightning.

"This is the front desk. Those sirens you have been hearing are a tornado warning, and we are inviting you to come down and wait in our workout room until the warning is over, if you want."

If I want?

Well, she explained, there probably wasn't any danger and we could also hole up in the bathroom of our room, if we wanted.

OK, I said. Thanks.

I told Sharon about the call, and she asked if I hadn't heard the warning sirens, which sounded like the air raid sirens from a World War II movie.

I am a very sound sleeper, and was unaware that the world was blowing all around us. Just then another siren sounded. I stepped to the window and saw a lot of rain falling. The streets were full of water. The trees were whipping in the wind.

I looked to our left and saw the most frightening sight of the evening -- a very large man, his gray hair still tousled from sleep, in a pair of short blue shorts and nothing else. He, too, had come out on the balcony to see this wonder of nature.

At least I'd had the presence of mind to put some clothes on.

After several minutes admiring the lightning and the wind, Sharon and I, journalistic skeptics that we are, meandered to the main floor only to find that the tornado warning had been cancelled.

The security officer who met us said the worst appeared to be over. "Don't worry, the only ones who would be in danger would be those on the fifth and sixth floors," he said. (Our room was 501.)

"Go ahead and go back to bed," he added, "But be aware there is more severe weather coming."

The excitement over, we went back to sleep. In the morning the sky was gray, but the wind had died down. But broken branches littered the streets. When we drove to the nearby church for services, we passed several downed trees. One of them looked like it had exploded, scattering splinters from heck to breakfast.

There was a shattered tree in front of the church as well, and one of the three men there told us the storm had knocked out power to part of the building so the meetings had been cancelled.

We later learned that for the first time in 33 years, a Category 2 tornado had indeed touched down in Omaha the night before. The television stations spent whole newscasts talking about it. We were just lucky it hadn't touched down on us.

Next time we'll worry a little more.