image courtesy of Docksidepress. All Rights Reserved
I grew up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and never slept better as during that area's copious spring/summer early evening thunder storms. I always thought thunder sounded like god moving his furniture. Heavenly.
On the other hand, during the really bad ones, my mom took refuge in the basement, clutching a battery-powered radio for information about the storm. We slept while – and perhaps because – she made deals with god about keeping the house upright and water tight.
We don't get many thunderstorms in western Massachusetts. Why not?