Refugees of January ’09

I’m reminded – as if I could forget – that today is uncomfortably close to the two-year anniversary of the Great Ice Storm of January 26, 2009.  We here in Arkansas — shoot, looks like the whole country except California — are bracing for another onslaught.  Two days after it was 72 degrees f. here.

As I look out at this murky, menacing morning, I vividly recall January 2009.  Then I didn’t have the care of a cat.  Now I do.  So I want to reconsider what we’re looking at, when it comes time to uproot ourselves and these companions who are so deeply territorial.

I am really, really hoping that this year will not be a re-do of January 2009.  For a taste (or refresher) of what it was like, check out here.

Why should I be so moved, as I see, by the University of Arkansas law school, a flowering tree snapped to smithereens?  I deeply question the mentality that’s strewn quick-growth Bartlett peartrees all over this Arkansas landscape – I mean, they are truly truly spectacular in the spring, but, really, are these not a bit rubbishy? skinny random branches that snap off at the least breath of wind?  And so it seems more about display, than substance –

I am moved anyway.  I used to love looking out of the law library window at this one particular tree, shown in the slideshow above as snapped to smithereens.  In spring it was simply heavenly.  I’d glance up at it every so often and breathe, as hours went by with me staring at, oh, I don’t know, the tax consequences of owning an airplane . . . .

I just looked back at a letter I wrote to my family about the ice-storm.  It brings back so vividly how I spent two days huddled in bed at home, thinking I could stick this thing out, no power, no heat – but then the phone rang and it was dear friends who still had power and who were wondering about me.  And as I heard their entreaties to come to their house, I felt myself shaking right down to my bones, shaking uncontrollably in my very core – and I gave it up and went over to their blissfully warm – in every sense of the word – home.  And dearest man Likoebe met me at the door with a mug of hot chocolate – I could cry even now, remembering how that felt.

And then, day after day after day, I’d drive by home, hoping for some sign of power to come back, and day after day after day – no power –

And what would that have been like, with Bugs in tow?

I had occasion to find out, not too long ago . . . .

But before I write about that I must go.  I must lay in more cat toys.  This is threatening to look like a long haul.  More soon.