Our house on the second day of snowmageddon
So
many are in so much worse condition than I am that I wouldn’t think of
complaining. I have power and water—cold, but not hot. But I have devised a
dish-washing method—heating water in the electric kettle and using my mixing
bowl as a dishpan. Cold rinses are a shock; so is brushing my teeth and washing
my hands; a shampoo is out of the question, and I am beginning to feel as
bedraggled as I did after six days in the hospital.
My
house is cold in the mornings—50 this morning, which was seven degrees better
than yesterday. But the space heaters bring it up to the recommended 68. Of
course, I turn them off at night. And I worry about Sophie—she won’t sleep on
the bed next to me. Last night I found her curled into a cold little ball on
the sofa. Tonight, she was cuddled closer to the space heater than I was
comfortable with. I had soup tonight—a thick, rich white bean and sausage soup
in my freezer, given by a friend some time ago. I thought it was thawed, but
when I went to spoon it out, it obviously was not—a big spoonful flew onto the
floor. Sophie loved it, and I loved the hot bowl I had.
I’ve
never seen rescue measures in Texas like we are seeing tonight—warming shelters,
the convention center and several churches open for overnight guests, the Presbyterian
Night Shelter flooded (I hope) with donated pbj sandwiches, Jeep owners ready
to rescue stranded people. In a crunch like this, the good in people comes out,
and it’s really heartening. In my little neighborhood, people are running
errands for each other, offering to shovel snow, loaning a desperately need
shop vac. They find all kinds of ways to help.
I am
angrily amused at the right-wingers who blame Texas troubles on Biden and his
green energy plan. Do they read? Do they think? Biden has been in office three
weeks, give or take, and no energy bill has been presented, let alone accepted
and acted upon. Yet they are sure that he has targeted Texas for special pain.
Texas, the state that has proposed legislation to withdraw from the union. In
truth, when Governor Abbott, who eschews Federal aid in Medicare, etc., asked
for FEMA relief, Biden immediately granted it. He didn’t care that Texas voted
red; he did care that people were suffering and in danger of dying. He
is a president for all the people, not just those who voted for him.
Speaking
of secession, if Texas did, God forbid, act on that legislation, it wouldn’t be
the first time. In 1867, during Reconstruction, Van Zandt County in East Texas
seceded and drew up a document similar to the Declaration of Independence.
General Phil Sheridan sent troops to quell the rebellion, but while Sheridan’s
troops marched in orderly file up the road, the men of Van Zandt County hid in
the trees and picked off the soldiers with well-aimed shots. The troops
retreated, and the Van Zandt County men went into town to celebrate victory with
a huge bonfire and more than one jug of whiskey. After a while, the troops came
back, quietly surrounded and arrested them. Many of the rebels spent a long,
cold winter in a stockade. When spring rains came, the logs of the stockade
could easily be pushed apart in the mud, and one by one the men of Van Zandt
disappeared into the night. Some never returned to the county; none were prosecuted.
I’m
not sure if this is an object lesson for today’s Texans or not, but I can’t
resist a bit of blatant self-promotion. One of my early novels was about that
war—Luke and the Van Zandt County War. Recently I wrote about spending
time at a guest ranch in East Texas—it was in Van Zandt County. Love these odd
bits of history.
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