January 29, 2009

Ice Hostage -- Day Three

Hence, the iceman won’t leaveth. Our part of the country is still recovering from ice, sleet, and snow that terrorized our area for about 36 hours and left half an inch to several inches of ice in its wake. We are in a Level II State of Emergency, which as our local radio station explained, is the “one before martial law.”

"Essential Personnel" Husband had to work today and spent nearly thirty minutes trying to “get up the hill” to the highway, which really wasn’t much of an improvement. Except that the state highway is flat and the numerous potholes provide traction. We have lived in The Country now for thirteen and a half years and we have yet to see a snowplow on our street. After getting to the highway, Husband crawled for about another 45 minutes on the So-called Expressway to get to his employer, a very well-read Ice Road Trucker.

Apparently the entire city looks like some kind of tree bombing raid as many limbs and whole trees are down.

We lost power Tuesday night but it came back on after about 12 hours. Unlike many of our friends, we have power now. Our local electric company estimates that half of its customers are without power. That doesn’t account for the state across the Big River which was hit harder by the ice storm. We at least have four inches of snow to cushion the blow. We have company for the night – glad to share our Pot Roast with the neighbors who would do the same for us.

I took a few pictures, gingerly stepping out the front door and onto the back deck, (Picture this: pink, fuzzy slippers, pink fuzzy socks for cold feet, pj bottoms with big pineapples all over them, half glasses on a string around my neck, shirt that says “Art Lives” and mimics the Sgt. Pepper cover, only with artists…that scary thought will burn your retinas for awhile.) I have attached three photos -- a view out the front door down the hill, the icicles hanging from the roof at the back of the house, and just one of the large limbs down in the yard.

In January I am always reminded of the January day 21 years ago when Husband and I drove up to this Frozen Place, moving here from the sunny south. While we both grew up in a More Frozen Place, our blood had thinned out over our time in year-round warmth. We had an ancient gray Volvo filled with the things we didn’t put in the moving van and a bird named Tiki and a cat named The Bub. (We learned later, in an unfortunate and final way, that canaries don’t do well in cold weather.) The Volvo’s electric window on the driver’s side broke on the drive between Louisville and this Frozen Place, and we were quite cold. Every January I ask myself this question, “Who moves BACK to this Frozen Place?”

Today I am warm – resplendent in my special Ice Day jammies – and looking forward to Pot Roast. Hope you are also warm and safe. Please share your ice horror stories! Quoth the raven.