Recovery

I had a difficult time getting to sleep last night even though I was exhausted. I let one of the dogs sleep in bed with me so I had a warm body nearby. I’m sore today. My forearms ache from my death grip on the steering wheel. I think I pulled a muscle in my right forearm; I can’t hold anything (like a coffee cup) without some pain. Perhaps I should stop before I start to sound too geriatric. I am, however, feeling very fortunate and thankful for a mother and grandmother who pray for me daily. My ordeal last night could have been far worse.

It’s a good thing I didn’t really have any plans for today. So far, I’ve sorted through my photographs. I had already planned to do this and bought some gorgeous hat boxes the other day just for this occasion. I’m amazed at how much I hold on to and why I feel the need to keep doubles of just about every picture. I’m also glad I have so many photos because they tell so many stories, like the time I took my nephew to the zoo and sprained my ankle on the way in or the day at the beach where I told my husband that he was going to marry me (and stood there dumbfounded that I didn’t run him off with that prediction). The look in my mother’s eyes tell the status of her mental health. Hugs and kisses and smiles are all reminders of how much I am loved.

I’m also throwing away a lot of photos. I cringe each time I place another one in the trash, but this is as good a time as ever to purge my memory box. My grandmother and I have started going through her family photos, and that process has given me a new perspective on what really is a keeper in the photo album world. There is no reason to hold on to baby photos of my friends’ children or blurred photos of half a dog’s head. And you know what? I actually like looking through each picture and deciding if I like it enough to make it part of the baggage I’m about to lug to Fort Myers. There might be a life lesson in there.

The clock tells me that Pretty Woman is about to come on the t.v., and that seems like an ideal movie for me to continue my reminiscing and purging. (I like to have on something I’ve seen enough so I don’t have to devote all my attention.) I’ll leave you with a sight I just caught from outside my window here. I don’t think I’ve ever before seen an aloe plant bloom.

My Interruption

I was on my way to Lakeland tonight for Rachel’s birthday, happily singing along with Amy Grant (I told you I sang Amy’s songs on drives) when I heard the pop. Now, a pop when you are driving is never a good sound. And it’s even worse when you discover that you no longer have control over the vehicle. Which I didn’t. This is what happened.

Several people stopped on the side of the road to make sure I was okay. They heard the pop and saw me go sliding through the muck. My favorite remark was from the guy who told me I was a really good driver and then offered me some water.

Just in case you can’t tell from the photos, I was in the middle of nowhere on the main road in and out of Kissimmee. That’s swamp land there, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience standing there in flip flops. Then the rain started.

The tow truck driver finally arrived. That was a show in itself because the tow truck almost ended up in the muck.

I’m still recovering from the shock of it all with visions of flying brush in my head. This is the first time in my life something of this magnitude has happened to me. For that I am grateful because I know not everyone can say that, especially someone who drives as much as I do.

I offer my thanks to all the people who stopped to make sure I was okay, called 911, guided me out of the vehicle, and my dear in-laws who stayed with me. There presence was such a great comfort to me. So now I have a million phone calls to finish, some Xanax to take, and convince myself that I’m not suffering from mortal internal injuries.