I like airbags -- A non-blogging journal entry

    It snowed here on Tuesday.  White powder drifted down upon us for most of the morning and afternoon.  Downright beautiful, if you ask me. 
    I took extra caution coming home on Tuesday evening, and arrived home late, but in great shape.  I've driven on Colorado winter roads since I learned how to drive, and will continue to do so as long as I live here.
    Wednesday morning, as I left Ani at her grandparents' house, I made sure to take extra time and to leave extra space between me and the other cars.  I turned onto the main road outside of the subdivision, and I made my way towards the school.
    Until I slid left, recovered, slid right, recovered partially, and slid directly into the 10 foot ditch/dry creek bed/rock-filled hidey hole by the side of the road.  My speed never hit 20 miles an hour.
    Both airbags deployed (did I mention I love airbags?), I was a bit jostled, but I walked away from the accident, the only marks on my body a small abrasion on my forehead, another, matching one at my scalp line, and a big coffee stain on my pants from the spill of my ginormous thermos-mug filled to the brim with coffee that opened during the crash.  The doctor confirmed that my mind was as good as it ever was, and that I suffered no long-term damage.  (As an aside -- did you know that one of the first indicators of neurological damage is the loss of the sense of smell?  I didn't -- until the alcohol swab and the cinnamon Altoids were shoved under my nose.  All good.)  I'm a little sore this weekend, though.
    The car is completely totaled.  All gone.  Bye-bye.  It landed rather on its front end, the giant rocks underneath crippling the engine.  It was fifteen months old.  But, hey.  It's just a car.  Metal and glass and whatnot. 
    I'm okay.  Even put up Christmas lights on the house for the first time in my life.  And hugged my daughter.  A lot.
    Back to work.

Comments

[Chris Lehmann]

Bud,

Just glad you're o.k. -- and yeah, hugging your daughter is probably the best medicine.

That and advil.

-- Chris

[Coach Brown]

Glad you are doing alright. It is truely amazing that life could change that quick if the circumstances are different.
My best to your health.

[Puja]

Congrats on the easy-to-read writing style and excellent-simple page design.

[Anne_Davis]

I am so glad you are OK. Keep on hugging your daughter - best medicine in the world!

I keep wanting to get your advice on my high school groups and intend to write - these guys have touched my heart but I'm in unknown territory!

Meanwhile, let's kick back and enjoy those pretty Christmas lights. You take care....

Best to you.
Anne

[Clarence Fisher]

Not a great way to begin the Christmas season. But in a way, I suppose, it is a reminder for all of us of what is truly important in this season.

Take care.

[Darren Kuropatwa]

Thank g-d you're ok! Take care of yourself old man. Like everyone else, I think the best medicine is the hugs from your wife and daughter. Merry Christmas -- thinking of you.

[Sean]

Bud--So glad to know you're ok. Those kind of crashes can bruise the insides more than the body. Glad you hugged your daughter. A lot. Cheers ~

[graycie]

Scary stuff. Glad you're okay.

[Dean Shareski]

I always like happy endings.

[Will R.]

I meant to say this earlier, but glad to hear you're ok.

[Nancy McKeand]

It is scary how fast stuff like that can happen! I am glad you are OK.

My husband just came back from a trip north and drove through a snowstorm. It has been a long time since we have lived in the stuff. His last experience didn't make him eager to try it again, either!

[Eric Langhorst]

Great to hear you are OK. We had two days off from school last week due to snow here in Kansas City.