The morning wakes cold with temps hovering just above or just below the freezing mark. The rain continues to fall causing increased threat of flooding and icy roads. Schools are opening late, and some in neighboring counties are closed for the day.
Last Sunday, I celebrated my birthday (Thank you, Lord, I never thought I would make it this long). The year I was born, there was a monster ice storm that covered the Southeast. My family lived in an old farm house that was heated by an open fireplace. Mama told of fearing that her infant would freeze to death during that storm. Daddy moved the bed next to the fireplace to help keep us warm. They told of hearing loud cracking and popping sounds as the trees near the house succumbed to the weight of the ice.
When I had English composition in college, one of our assignments was to write a paper on the events that happened the year we were born. I spent hours in the library searching microfiche, reading about the storm that swept through several states, causing major damage and many deaths. My parents were not connected; the storm was long past before they learned how far its icy tentacles had reached.
Those of you who know me well are aware that I am almost always cold. I wear long sleeves during our intense summers because everywhere I go, it is too cold without them. I don't leave home in the winter without many layers of clothing, including wool socks. Some might say that my arms and legs are so long, my heart just can't pump the blood that far on a regular basis.
I'm thinking that it is residual shock from that ice storm.