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Keeping Ike in perspective
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Keeping Ike in perspective
  Kitty Blue Sky (pronounced Blueski) finds a comfy spot in a case of hurricane water. Probably it won’t escape your notice that this week’s Journal is filled with hurricane-related stories. It could hardly be otherwise—for some time to come, the hurricane and its aftermath will be at the front of our minds, our conversations, and our efforts.  All of us have storm stories now, stories of property and financial loss, fear and danger and discomfort. It’s comforting to share these stories with one another. Sometimes even gratifying, if we can relate more horrors than the other person. I don’t think I’ll be engaging in any one-upmanship regarding Hurricane Ike. I fully realize how lucky my family is.  We all have scratches from clearing brush, and dozens of mosquito bites. The last time I checked, Ike had killed 80 people in the Caribbean, and 33 here in the states: Seven in Texas; seven in Indiana; six in Louisiana; two in Tennessee; four in Ohio; three in Missouri; two in Illinois; one in Arkansas and one in Kentucky. We suffered tree damage, which I will mourn privately. But the Last Homely House still stands, roof intact. Ike left thousands with homes so badly damaged their families can’t go back, and hundreds without homes at all.  We went a week without power. We got hot. You see where I’m going with this. So, no horror stories from me. I’ll tell recovery stories, instead. The morning after the storm, I raced out to see how bad the damage was. I straightened, replanted, and propped up several small trees. There was only one plant unaccounted for: A 16-inch hollyhock I started from a cutting early this year. It had been in the general vicinity of a massive elm limb that fell, and I simply couldn’t find it anywhere. The second day after the storm, I looked out and saw something pink on the ground. Sure enough, it was the little lost hollyhock, blooming out from under that elm limb. It took three of us to lift the limb off it, but when we did, that hollyhock sprang up straight, its bloom intact. I want to be like that hollyhock, I thought to myself.  The animal population paid little attention to the storm as it howled through. I think the dogs missed the air conditioning as much as we did, but they all enjoyed the open doors and windows. Since our power was restored and our windows closed, there have been a steady stream of thumps as various cats attempt to leap through the now-closed windows. The lack of lights didn’t bother any of the animals except Katy Big Dog, who is evidently afraid of the dark, as well as cats, cars, people, loud noises, hats, and bright colors. She was fine during the daylight hours, but went to hide behind the bed in an unused room as soon as it grew dark every evening, and couldn’t be coaxed out, even with jerky treats.  The human behavior around here has been just as odd since the storm. Our power was restored Friday, about four hours short of a week since it went off. By the time it came back on, we had adjusted to the outage in some odd ways. During the outage, it became a constant source of mirth that every one of us walked into the bathroom and flipped the light switch expectantly. “Still doesn’t work,” we’d report on rejoining the others. After our power was restored Friday, I used the bathroom in the dark twice, forgetting to even try the switch. During the outage, we used the freezer compartment of our refrigerator as an ice chest, storing milk and luncheon meats and other perishables there with a bag of ice. Every time I wanted the milk, I first opened the door of the disabled refrigerator, then remembered the milk was in the freezer.  Now, I open the freezer door when I want the milk, and remember it’s in the refrigerator, where it belongs. Micheal and Eric and I spent most of our powerless evenings playing cards and Monopoly by flashlight in the living room, where the most breeze was to be had. We talked, and laughed, and actually had a pretty good time. When the power came back on, we all fled to our respective computers again. But it’s nice to know we can enjoy one another’s company. Not every family can. These are my hurricane stories—won’t it be nice when we can think, and write, about something else?  |
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