Quiet Saturday

Tags

family, fatherhood, God, life, marriage, parents, relationships

Saturday morning quiet is where I exist at this moment.  My family, including the dog and cat, are resting comfortably in their beds upstairs, asleep after their late Friday night revelry.  Alyssa is home for a short two day visit, snuggled up with her mother in her bedroom last night for a pajama party as I ventured down the hallway to bed, a quick “good night” as I stuck my head in to check on them.  The MacBook was out and ready for what was most likely a Gilmore Girl marathon.  Nate was perched in his usual spot, Xbox blazing and cell phone out as he kibitzed with his teenage buddies.  I got out of bed around 5 this morning to shut his bedroom light off, his Xbox controller still in contact with his outstretched fingertips on the bed next to his snoring carcass.  He won’t stir until at least noon today.  There is probably another hour of quiet left in my morning, the girls and animals likely will emerge from the chrysalis of sleep about mid morning.

Me?  I’m plotting my day’s activities as I write.  Last Saturday was a ice/snow ride in the woods, today too warm and sloppy for a ride in the woods.  Sloppy is not what I prefer.  My road bike needs a new hoop for the rear wheel, so it’s not going to come out of the garage.  An old Univega hybrid, once the bike I road almost exclusively for my work commute, is hanging from the garage rafters and waiting to be reconditioned.  Today seems like a good idea to start that project, perhaps an hour or so ride on that bike is in order.  Tax documents also are ready for me, so I may dive in on that chore later on today.  Doing the taxes is not something that I loathe, but it’s one of those chores that I like to get out of the way early.  With a child in college, the FAFSA requires the information from a completed and accepted tax return, so there is extra motivation to get the taxes done early.

In that Alaska coffee cup is a perfect brew of Starbucks Italian Roast.  If the coffee is portioned correctly for the brew, a task I have somehow perfected as of late, the sweetness of the dark roast is further enhanced by the sweetener added.  There are two sips left in my third cup of that brew, almost intoxicating to me on a morning like this.  When the seal breaks, I will get a head start on my Saturday workout.

This year has already given me opportunity to struggle with a tough decision.   That Alaska coffee cup reminds me of that decision, one that I finally made a little over a week ago.  “Finally” is a necessary word for this story because the initial decision wasn’t accepted, forcing me to reconsider and make a stronger case for the decision.  I debated with myself as well as my wife for more than a month before making the announcement — I am not going to Alaska with my family this June for a wedding.

A few months ago, our daughter was asked to be a bridesmaid by her cousin for her June wedding.  We have known for several months about the wedding, excited for Mir’s family and her niece.  Inga has lived with us several times over the years, a happy little blonde pixie who I love like she is my own daughter.  Her father, Dan, is one of my favorite brother-in-laws (I have four) mainly because our personalities and interests are very similar.  When we found out about the wedding, my wife was supposed to be putting away money from her paycheck for the trip and airfare.  January came, time to buy the plane tickets if they were going to be affordable, her sisters putting the pressure on her to buy the tickets now.

One problem — my wife has not saved a penny for the plane tickets or trip.  I can’t pay for them as my paycheck pays all of our bills, little to none in the budget from my pay to save for a trip to Alaska.  I get paid twice a month, the first paycheck going towards the major bills with just enough left for fuel and food, the second covering the rest of the bills (car payment, cell phones for wife/kids, etc).  Besides air fare expenses for the trip, there are going to be plenty of expenses for the 11 days that my wife wants to stay in Alaska.  Not only is my wife not saving money for the plane tickets, she is not regulating her spending, often going through her pay so quickly that she is borrowing from our joint account (my paycheck.. hers goes into her own account).

The other problem was the time away from work needed for the trip.  When I said no to the Alaska trip the first time, which was a few weeks ago, time away from work was the reason that I gave.  If I went for the full trip, it would mean 8 working days away from my job.  In a three person office, at the height of our busiest time of the year, it would be a bad thing.  My boss flinched when I told him I needed to take 8 days in June.  He was fair to me, said it was my time to take but hoped that I could at least reduce some of that time.  That probably meant going just for the wedding and coming home early, without my family.  Unfortunately, the discount plane tickets had to be purchased in pairs and those two people would be required to travel together.  After a good deal of wrestling with the details, I decided that the expense and time away just were not justified for a wedding.

I hated making the decision.  I honestly did.  I like my wife’s family (for the most part) and it would be great to see my daughter decked out as a bride’s maid.  Her family feels the same way about me and offered to pay for my plane ticket.

Part of the struggle is knowing that I know there are changes that need to be made in my family if my marriage is to survive.  One big change is our finances.  Our resources need to be managed better, spending decreased, budget seriously adhered to, debt reduced (not increased).  That meant (means) not spending more money on the Alaska trip than is needed.  If I do not go, my wife and kids won’t need a rental car or hotel, as well as other expenses reduced.  My son likely won’t get to do the fun things with his father, but more than likely will spend more time with his cousins as a result.  The girls will be consumed with the wedding details for at least half of the trip.  So I presented the hard financial facts to my wife, showing her that best case scenario of savings from my pay would be $400 by June.  I would have to turn down the kind offer of her sister paying for my plane ticket.  She would borrow the money from her sister for her air fare and for our children’s air fare, something that I have real doubts she will be able to repay, especially if she is going to be able to save for expenses during the June trip.

The second time that I said no, my wife agreed with one condition — I would have to tell her sister that I was not going and would not be accepting the money for my plane ticket.  My wife wanted me to email her sister.  I thought about her request, initially bristling, but after a little consideration welcomed the chance to explain to her sister why I was not going.  I didn’t email her, I called her, explained my desire to convey how serious I am about our family finances.  We need to learn to live on what we have.  This is an opportunity to convey that message in a way that shows how serious that I am.

This is a decision that really makes me feel like the bad guy.  I don’t like being the bad guy.  I am one of those people that wants to always be the good guy, enough that I sometimes do not make the hard decisions that I need to make.  Before I made the decision to forego the Alaska trip, I called the person I trust the most in my life, my father.  Dad listened to me, told me that he understands why I need to make the decision, especially considering all he knows about my marriage.  Dad did not tell me what decision I needed to make, but he told me that I was thinking along the right lines, that my reasoning was sound.  He said that there are both positive and negative consequences from the decision, thus the struggle, but the potential positive likely outweighs the negative.  And he said one thing to me that stuck — Steve, you need to make a decision like this one right now.  I thanked him sincerely for the encouragement and for listening to me.  My father has learned to listen to me in the last few years.. and he always tells me that he and my mother pray for me each day.  If you do not know the assurance that the knowledge of someone praying for you gives you, you are missing something.  It is strengthening.

The decision has given the message to my family that I am serious about the money we spend.  The past two weeks, I have put together a day to day menu with a grocery list on Sunday.  I do the grocery shopping, cook most of the meals.  There has been resistance, but the message is being delivered.  It gives some strength to my no response when someone, usually our son, wants fast food or a pint of premium ice cream, luxuries far too common for him (as in daily luxuries).  The next step will likely be eliminating the funds available in the joint checking account, opening my own checking account and leaving only enough cash in the joint account to pay bills.  I am tired of financial stress.

There is a full blog, a ton of information.  Now to start on that bike (I won’t be changing out parts — no money in the budget for that!!!).

Coffee is gone.  Day is ready for me to move…..

Tee Time

Tags

house cleaning, life, sheltie, winter activities

Winter activities can be fun.  The frivolity can be endless — snowmen, skiing, ice skating, streaking, ummmm…. you know, snow and ice and exposed skin type of stuff.  I’m certain that I only touched the tip of the iceberg with my list.  Winter also lends itself to opportunities that Summer does not present, indoor activities that may or may not be so filled with frivolity.  I’m talking about something that I only do every twenty years or so..

It was time to clean out my closet and get rid of decades of tee shirts.

That’s right.  This past weekend I went into the closet and came out…with a whole lot of old tee shirts.  I piled them in the middle of my living room hoping that they would get up and walk away on their own.

Not really.  They are shirts after all.  They don’t have legs.  I think I heard some of them trying to strike a deal with the pants.

I know what you are saying.  Wait, no, you’re asking.  I know what you are asking — how could someone throw away a perfectly good Angry Birds tee shirt?  That is a good question and I feel a bit guilty for separating the tee shirt from it’s matching red Angry Birds fleece pajama pants.  Sometimes one has to be cruel in order to be practical.

There was also the issue of personal safety involved in my decision to cull the tee shirt herd.  Most of my tees were stacked on a long wire shelf along the ceiling of my walk in closet.  I was buried under an avalanche of tee shirts the other morning, rescued by the ever faithful Nick the Sheltie.  Of course, it was his barking that set off the avalanche, so the dog had better have rescued me.

I had a lot of tee shirts.  I still do have a lot of tee shirts, even after getting rid of a lot of my collection.  Getting rid of many of those tee shirts was more difficult than I thought it would be.  Tee shirts are an item than hold a memory — an accomplishment, races or bike events or bike tours, vacations taken, little league baseball teams coached, softball or basketball teams that I played for, gifts from my kids that tell me what they think of me.

There is that Save Ferris tee shirt that my daughter thought was so cool, picked out one day from a bin at Target after we had watched Ferris Buehler’s Day Off for the umpteenth time.  Or the Perry the Platypus tee shirt that she brought back for me when she came back from Walt Disney World, a tribute to our favorite cartoon (Phineas and Ferb — CURSE YOU, PERRY THE PLATYPUS).  There is the NaNoWriMo winner tee and the “Let’s Eat Kids.  Let’s Eat, Kids.  Punctuation Saves Lives!” shirt that remind me that I like to mess around with words now and then.

Amor Ministries shirts are reminders of the three weeks that my wife and I took our kids to Tijuana, building small houses from scratch in the hot August sun.  I was never so proud of them for the hard work and compassion they showed on those trips.  They also got to see me try to work when I was violently ill on one of those trips, maybe the best opportunity I have had to be a good example to them.  I kept one of those Amor tee shirts, threw two away.  I need to keep one just because.

I think the trinket tee shirts that the blood donation centers give are cool.  Those are shirts I don’t wear too often because I feel like I am drawing too much attention to myself, announcing what a good person I must be for donating blood.  Truth is that I go for the free Little Debbie brownies and cold Coca Cola.

It’s hard to say how many tee shirts that I have from riding bicycle events.  When I went through the stacks of ride tee shirts, there were several as old as 1994.  Yeah, I have been riding for a while.  There was a time in my riding life when I would ride several events a month.  I had a lot of friends that rode those events with me, with a ton of stories that go with riding those events, especially the tours that we rode together.  There were at least 20 shirts from RAGBRAI (Des Moines Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa).  Since I have participated in RAGBRAI seven times, I should have a lot of shirts from that ride.  There were three shirts from the event that I am the most proud to have completed, a ride called The Assault on Mount Mitchell, one of the most grueling one day tours that I have done.  A lot of my tee shirts from rides are gone, worn out and thread bare.  I like to talk about riding and wearing a ride tee shirt is often a conversation starter.  There are also the bike safety clinic “rodeo” tee shirts that I have, another source of pride simply because I like that I have the privilege of promoting cycling in my community.

Even after throwing away a lot of ride tees, I have a lot left, judging by the stack of shirts I put back on the closet shelf.

I was a bit in awe at the number of shirts I had/have from coaching youth sports.  Having a son who loves sports will do that to you.  Between baseball (the sports logo tees are from those teams — and I was missing one shirt), basketball, softball (Alyssa) and soccer, I was a very busy man from the time Nate turned 4 until he was 13.  Wow, are there a lot of memories from each of those tees!  Our park district issues the same tee shirt with the city logo on it, in the team color.  I have a large number of those shirts in all kinds of colors.  Then there were the years that I served on the youth baseball association board, with tees from the tournaments that we sponsored.

I liked thinking about coaching my 13 year old daughter when she decided to try playing organized basketball.  There were two tee shirts from that time of my life.  One condition of her deciding to play on the park district team was that I would be one of the team coaches.  I had to quit a production that I had been cast in so that I could coach that team, one of the best decisions that I have ever made, even though the producer of that musical was so angry with me for dropping out that he told me that I would never be cast in a play or sketch or video ever again.  I had been one of the founders of the theater company, a lot of myself was invested in it, so it was a big deal.  An even bigger deal was witnessing my daughter invest herself in the sport of basketball, proud and happy that I was a part of it.  Our girls park district basketball program was designed to prepare our girls for the middle school basketball program.  The park district season finished right before tryouts for the school team.  Alyssa not only made the middle school basketball team, she was a starter on the school team.

There was the tee shirt that my church gave to me to wear when I baptized my son at church.  That one will never be thrown out.

One shirt that held a bittersweet memory for me was a shirt that was awarded for winning a basketball league tournament, a team that was undefeated.  We had to wear those shirts for the first game of the next season.  That basketball team was organized by the director of sales for the company I worked for, my boss’s boss.  Paul was one of the most genuine people I have met, a man who never treated me like he was his superior.  He recruited me to play on that team when I was in my basketball prime.  I don’t think I want to elaborate on that.. but I was very good at the time.  I remember clearly the night that Paul’s wife and children came to watch us play and how proud Paul was to introduce me to them.  I played on teams as a boy that played in the Illinois state championships, placing third at the state tournament one year, but playing on that club basketball team with Paul was as good or better experience than playing on those teams.  Every member on that team played well together, largely because of the guy who led that team.  Basketball developed a close bond between us.

I also gained a true friend in Paul those two seasons I played on that team.  He became someone I could talk to at work without fear of consequence, a supportive leader who brought me back to the company when I left for greener pastures.  Paul also talked to me about the spiritual side of life, about God, in a way that no one else has with me.  What made that part of our relationship unique was that Paul struggled with believing in God.  That struggle led to a conversation that I will remember with sadness for the rest of my life, the day where Paul asked to talk to me about what I believe about God and salvation and what needs to be done for salvation.  He had a sister who believes the same way I do, had shared the same with him — and Paul looked at me straight in the eye, with sadness, as he told me “Steve, I just can’t believe the same way that you do.”.  He couldn’t bring himself to be baptized, couldn’t quite say that he needed to do that, was not quite sure he really believed in God.

A few months later, on a cold January day, Paul parked his car next to a river, walked to the river and committed suicide by stabbing himself multiple times with a knife.  He was found dead in the river.   At his wake, I sobbed as I stood in front of his ash white face in the coffin.  His wife pulled me aside and told me what I had meant as a friend to her husband.. and that he had told me about the conversation I had with him in his office.

I couldn’t bring myself to attend his funeral the next day.  I could not bring myself to accept that good bye.  Looking at that tee shirt last weekend, I knew that it needed to go.  It was a way to say good bye.

Really, I did not think that something as simple as a tee shirt would bring back so many memories.  There were more, plenty more.  Most not as bittersweet as Paul’s story.  Most very happy, proud memories of some of my best days and moments.  They are my trophies, I suppose.

Now that the closet is done, it’s time to move on to an even more daunting task.  Yes, it’s time to clean out my underwear drawer.

That should be a brief task.

 

 

Studly

Tags

fat bikes, i hate fat bikes because I can, winter bike riding

It’s January somewhere.  That should be a drinking song.  As a cyclist, it could be a reason to drink.  Think about it — cold and ice and snow and wet and yuck yuck yuck.  Many cyclists used to lament the conditions this time of year, use it as an excuse to sit inside on the couch with a big plate of nachos and a libation(s) to numb the pain of not riding.

Technology and a mild winter have changed that for we two wheeled whackos.

If you have never heard of the invention, a bicycle called a “fat” bike is the rage right now.  They started appearing a few years ago, beefy bicycles with wide wheels and huge balloon tires.  I laughed, no SCOFFED when I saw the first fat bike.  What the heck was that person thinking, riding a contraption like that?  Before long, fat bike snobs appeared everywhere, spouting rhetoric such as “you go fat, you’ll never go back”.

Pshawwwwww.

Yes, that’s a real expression.  In the mountain bike world, fat bikes were the answer to suspension, fat bike riders claiming that the balloon tires actually save weight and effort, eliminating the need for shocks.  Clearance issues were no longer a problem, the large tires adding height to a bike.  I have to admit that on more than one winter ride, I have found myself jonesing for a fat bike as I witnessed fat bike riders negotiating the snow covered trails with apparent ease. Those were blizzard rides, however, on trails with a foot of snow and sheer ice underneath.  The fat tires on those bike don’t sink to the ice,.. but when they do, it’s fun for fat bike haters such as myself to watch the suffering.

Baaaaahhhhhhhhh.  Studded tires are better.  Take this morning, for instance.  This morning, I loaded up my old Specialized Hard Rock 26er, outfitted with Nokian studded tires last night, drove to meet my friend Jon and a few of his friends at Palos Forest Preserve for a January frozen trails ride.  The trails are snow and ice covered right now, spectacular in winter beauty.  Palos is a beautiful place, especially this time of year.  The trails there can be treacherous in dry weather, much less icy cold snowy conditions.  It was going to be a challenge.

Jon didn’t show.  Jon, my humble and exceptionally talented friend, the one riding friend who has not succumbed to the fat bike craze.

So it was up to me to provide trail guide services to three crazed fat bike riders.

I had to laugh at times.  Studded snow tires for fat bikes are outrageously expensive.  None of the three had studded tires.  We have some snow on the ground, but it’s mostly ice due to the also mostly mild winter we have had in Chicagoland.  Studs were better than fats this morning.  Since I was trail guide, I intentionally guided the three noobs to trails with steep drops and equally steep, twisted climbs.  My studs stuck to the trail with glue like reliability.  The wide surface of the fat bike tires just turned any challenging section of trail into a skate fest.

Heh heh heh.

The ride this morning was a blast, my first ice ride of the season.  I needed to spin some wheels today, especially since I do not have a functional rear road wheel right now, preventing me from riding the indoor trainer (ummmmm…. drat).  Adding to my pleasure was the experience of driving my new VW on the highway for the first time, with bike inside the cabin.  It performed admirably.  I think I will keep it.

One other note — mountain biking keeps one humble.  I know that is difficult to believe, but it’s true.  Just when I feel like I have had the best, most perfect and skilled ride ever, something happens that brings me down to earth.  Literally.  Mountain biking brings me down to earth.  15 or so miles of flawless riding this morning, I fell less than a quarter mile from the parking lot.  My left knee has a nice contusion, even though I was wearing two layers of incredibly sexy tights.

Yet I still am feeling studly.

And I do want a fat bike.  I’ll be a hater until I get one.

 

 

 

Some Cars Blue

Tags

car, VW

The verdict is in — my VW Golf TDI has been declared a total loss.  I am going to miss that car.  It performed very well, turned on a dime, went forever on a tank of fuel, and the six speed manual transmission made me feel like a race car driver.  Volkswagen has a way of making the best use of a small space and the Golf was no exception.  While it wasn’t the best choice for hauling a lot of stuff, it hauled four people comfortably.

I received the news this past Thursday afternoon, first when the insurance adjuster left a phone message in response to my call to check claim status, saying that my claim had been moved to the total loss adjuster.  That prompted me to check VW Credit online, where a letter dated two days prior notified me that insurance had indeed notified the credit company that my car was totaled.  A call to VW Credit gave me more information, facts that threw me into an instant funk.  The news sounded worse than it probably actually is.  State Farm, the other driver’s insurance and the claim holder had advised the lien holder that they would be paying about $2600 less than the payoff amount.  I would have to file a gap claim for the remainder.

Drat.

The news could have been worse.  I could have opted out of the gap insurance when I financed the car.

State Farm returned my call after four messages.  They confirmed the total loss, went over the claim and the features of my car, added another $1200 to the amount that they would pay VW Credit.

Next was to get the form for the gap claim.  I have to wait to file the gap claim until State Farm has written the check to the lien holder.

It took a few hours, but I got all of the facts together, recovered from the initial shock.  My boss contacted a lawyer for me, even offered to pay for a lawyer.  We talked to him together, got the facts straight there.  I may be filing a suit against the person who was driving the car that hit me.  We shall see.  My Christian upbringing makes me flinch at bringing a lawsuit against anyone.  If common sense says do it, however, I will.

Home found me more upbeat, cheerful even.  I like looking at cars and now I would be looking at cars.  By 7 PM, I had two appointments with car sales people for the next day.  I had gone online and picked out a few cars I wanted to look at.  VW seemed logical to me if only because a VW had just proven how safe it could be.

Long story short, I was able to buy a 2012 VW Tiguan yesterday.  Blue.  Panoramic sunroof.  Black leatherette seats with heaters in the front seats.  Navigation system.  Automatic transmission, much to the joy of the other two drivers in my household.  The deal was painless, pleasant, with my new car payment almost equal to the payment I had on the other car.  This car is an upgrade to the Golf.

And now there are two blue VWs in my driveway.

Neil Diamond would be singing ♫Some cars blue, every Henry has onnnnnnnne♫.

 

It’s Only A Flesh Wound

Tags

accident, collision, dealing with insurance claims, VW

I feel like a weenie now that I have seen the pictures, at least until I look at one picture — the side view of the front seats.  A look at the external damage, even at the back of the car, says that perhaps the car that hit us wasn’t going as fast as I guessed.  Either that or God said “Let’s take it easy this time”.  Maybe just maybe that girl in the car behind us slowed down before she hit us.

The accident report says “Driver 1,…, stated that she did not see the stopped vehicles ahead of her in time to avoid a crash.  Vehicle 1 struck the rear of Vehicle 2 which was propelled forward into Vehicle 3.”.

Dealing with the police department to get the report details was pleasant.  I think I made a new friend at the records department of the Tippecanoe County Sheriff’s department.  We had a very nice conversation.  She was nice enough to offer to give me as much information I needed to file my claim(s) with the insurance company.  Apparently in Indiana one has to pay for a copy of the accident report.  Her good bye included a command to call her back as much as I needed to.  I like people like that.

My next call was a fact finding mission with my insurance company.  The call was over an hour but productive.  I talked with two very helpful people.  Filing a claim with my insurance company is not necessary, especially since the other driver’s insurance is accepting fault.  Talking with my insurance carrier, however, did help get the ball rolling on a claim with the at fault insurance carrier.  The claims adjuster for my insurance (Geico) called the other insurance carrier, let them know that I would be calling, then called me back with the claim number to reference when I called.

Patience is a virtue that I am learning as I get older, thank goodness, and it helped me make it through the beginning of the claims process.

Next call was to the phone number provided by Driver 1 for insurance.  The number was the insurance agent and not the insurance carrier.  Things had been to pleasant up to the point of that call, so the insurance agent had to attempt to throw some sour grapes at me.  The woman I talked to on the phone went instantly into defense mode.  Don’t quote me on this, but I swear she had to have said “I know you are but what am I?” more than once.  After assuring her several times that I meant her no harm, I did obtain the phone number for the claims department of State Farm insurance, albeit given to me begrudgingly.  Needless to say, the insurance agent did not leave me with a request to call her back lest I need anything else.

I’m pretty sure that I am going to write her phone number on the walls of a few mens’ rest rooms.

State Farm was good, professional (as expected), and explained the whole process for my claim very well.  Starting with my insurance company was a good move because the ball was already rolling by the time I got to State Farm.  I’m a bit wary of the whole process, but am remaining optimistic.  One thing that I do not like too much is that State Farm is going to write one check TO ME for the hospital bills.  In other words, I have to submit the bills and pay the bills to the hospital, then make my claim to State Farm.  I asked if they would just pay the bills directly rather than make me risk completely ruining my credit score from paying medical bills late, but they said that they just can’t do it that way.

Jake from State Farm has a funny stain on his khakis.  And I am hoping that State Farm really is a good neighbor, not a so-so neighbor.

I do have a rental car, arranged by the insurance company.  My car has been towed to a State Farm certified repair shop.  They will inspect the car, assess the damage, offer me a quote if it can be repaired, ask for approval before any repairs.  If the car is deemed to be a lost cause, then the process goes to a different type of claim.  I am hoping it can be repaired.  My car earned my respect for keeping my child, someone else’s child, and myself safe in what could have been a very bad situation.  I want to keep that car around for as long as I can.

Let’s hope my next blog has pictures of a shiny restored VW…..

 

 

 

 

BANG.. It’s the New Year!

Tags

accident, miracle

Never drive your car with snails in a cup next to you in the cup holder.  It’s possible you may grab the wrong cup.  And yes, that’s what she said.

My daughter and her college room mate have pet snails and a small potted tree named Bon Bon.  I know this because they all accompanied me on a car trip to Indiana yesterday afternoon, the snails in their travel cup happily sliming and sucking or whatever snails in a cup do.  Marybel, Alyssa’s roomie, chatted and slept and chatted and slept while shoe horned amongst all of the suitcases, musical instruments (a flute, a French horn, and a violin), yoga mats, and other college girl paraphernalia packed into the back seat of my little VW Golf.  Alyssa relaxed comfortably next to me, surrounded by her bags, pillows, playing DJ using her cell phone, letting me hear the music that she enjoys and sharing the joy with me.  It was time for them to go back to college, a drive through south Chicagoland to I65 south through northern Indiana to Lafayette, then straight east across the state on I26 to Upland, Indiana, home of Taylor University.  It’s a nice 4 hour drive, always easy with my daughter, pleasant in its solitude on the return trip to Chicagoland.

We made one potty stop along I65, at Fair Oaks Farms, a favorite stop that Alyssa and I discovered early on in our college trips.  Alyssa explained to Marybel that her father requires frequent potty stops, a misnomer for yesterday’s trip as I restrained my intake of coffee in anticipation of the trip.  Fair Oaks was still a welcome stop, the girls needed the potty break more than I.  Lafayette was another 45 minutes farther, a planned meal stop as there really isn’t much between Lafayette and Upland.  Dairy Queen was on my mind, and the girls agreed to stop there when we exited I65 and turned east on I26 at Lafayette.

Dad was happy.  Dad is easy.  Dad likes DQ hot fudge sundaes.  We chatted happily as the girls ate their food, drank their Orange Julius, and stole glances at the boys in uniforms sitting at the table next to us.

Back on the road, we braced for the 90 minute trip east, Alyssa and Marybel snug in the spots in the car.  I26 is a county highway, usually a trip that requires patience as I deal with ambling Indiana drivers and small town speed limits, the opportunities to pass slower drivers on the narrow blacktop limited.  I passed a young woman driving carefully along as we left the Lafayette city limits, aware that I needed to pass the slower driver while the road was still four lane.  I26 becomes that simple country two lane highway shortly after it leaves Lafayette.  The speed limit is 55 mph, slow by today’s standards but appropriate for the old style county highway such as I26.

A few miles down the road, after the road narrowed to two lane (one lane in each direction), we caught up to a couple driving a late model mini van.  The young woman I had passed earlier was a small blip in my rear view mirror.  The couple in the mini van slowed in front of me, left turn signal lit as they stopped to wait for oncoming traffic before they could turn.  I stopped the car behind them, my left foot depressing the clutch pedal and my right foot on the brake as I stopped to wait for the mini van to turn in front of me.

The last thing that I remember was turning around to check on Marybel behind me, just as the front grill of the young woman’s car smashed into the rear of my car.  There was no warning, only sudden violence of a collision from behind, the force and weight of the large late model Ford Taurus driving my little VW into the back of the mini van in front of us.

An eerie silence remained as time seemed to stop.  I groaned as I tried to gain my bearings, the world swimming in a blur.  Alyssa exclaimed “What just happened?!!?” from the seat next to me, checked on her friend who mumbled that she thought she might be OK.

The car’s engine was still running.  My foot was still on the clutch, the gear shift slipped to neutral.

“Dad, are you OK?  Can you move?”  Alyssa was calm, in control.  Remembering her composure gives me more respect for my little girl as I think about it now.

I slowly responded, weakly, my vision still blurred — “I’m not quite sure, but I think so.”  I couldn’t sit up, not realizing at the moment that my seat had broken and I was lying on my back.

“Should I call 911?”

“Yes.”

Alyssa called 911 as I figured out why my vision was blurry.  My glasses were gone.  I leaned over the steering wheel as I searched for my glasses.

“Alyssa, I can’t find my glasses.  Where in the world are my glasses?”  I was very disoriented.  Alyssa turned to check on Marybel, who thought her neck and head hurt.  She was afraid to move.

As I groggily searched for my glasses, supported by the steering wheel, my phone rang, loud in the speakers of the car through the Bluetooth connection.  The car was still running.  The caller was Miriam, who had received a text message from our cell provider that Alyssa had called 911, frantic as she should be.  I assured her that we were OK but had been in an accident a few minutes before, told her that I or Alyssa would call her in a few minutes.

Alyssa did call her right away.  I called her a few minutes later as I circled the car.

I shut the engine off, afraid that the collision may have caused a fuel leak and would start the car on fire.  Alyssa helped me get out of the car as a paramedic approached the car.  We asked him to check on Marybel as we walked around the car.  There was no fluid leaking, so I started the car again and to keep  the inside warm, but the paramedic instructed me to shut the car down for safety.  The police arrive quickly, an ambulance shortly after as it was decided that Marybel should be checked out at a hospital.

A sergeant from the county sheriff department took my information, checked on the girl in the car behind us, talked with her for a while.  I walked around the car, amazed that the car was not in worse shape than it was.  Impact had been bumper to bumper, my car absorbed the impact.  There was no broken glass, even the tail lights were intact.  The front end of my car was in bad shape, taking the worst of the force.  The mini van in front of us had fairly minor damage.  The car that hit us was leaking anti freeze and had the kind of damage one would expect from a front end collision.

As the policeman went back to his car, Alyssa approached the young woman who had been driving the car that had hit us, the girl scared and shaken but unhurt.  My daughter put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, hugged her, and a few moments later she was praying with the girl.

My daughter is awesome.

My glasses were on the floor of the back seat, found once Marybel was out of the car, folded like they had been placed there, under her legs.  Marybel couldn’t find her wallet, which had gift cards and money in it.  We couldn’t find it either.

The county policeman loaded Alyssa and I in his car as the wrecker took my car away.  He offered to take us to the hospital, instructed the wrecker to meet us at the hospital so all of the suitcases and instruments and supplies could be unloaded before taking the car to the holding lot.  He stayed with us until everything was in order.

Somewhere during the fracas, Alyssa had managed to call one of her college friends.  That friend was also travelling back to school and able to pick her up.  Alyssa asked me if it was OK for her to go, waited for the hospital to admit me and made sure I was OK, then left for school.

Marybel’s parents arrived a few hours later.  She was discharged with no serious injury.  A cat scan and xrays showed no injury to me, although the force of the collision caused soft tissue damage to my lower right leg, likely because I had kept the brake on during the collision.  Miriam and her sister drove to the hospital to pick me up and took me home, exhausted and asleep in the back seat of her sister’s car.

It seems like a miracle that my car was not completely destroyed and that no one was seriously hurt.  My guess is that the car was going at least 55 mph when it hit us, the speed limit.  There were no skid marks.  The young woman (19 years old) was distracted and did not see us in front of her.

I am waiting to hear the status of my car.  The insurance company thinks it can be repaired.  We shall see.  The girl’s insurance is paying and is accepting her fault in the accident.

Oh.. the snails are alive, but dang did I smell like snail water all evening after the accident.

Marybel had left her wallet at the Dairy Queen.

So, the new year has started with a BANG!

(My car no longer looks like this….)

Ain’t it shiny?

 

 

Looking at the new year from someplace new

Tags

new start, office

I worked my butt off this week, a change from years past where my previous employer closed up from Christmas to the beginning of January.  Last year, I was working at the job that I have now, my first Christmas holiday with the new company.  We worked a little during the holiday break, but not enough where I felt I was not getting a significant break.

This holiday was different.  I wanted to work.  Why?

We, my company of three, moved into new digs.  After renting three offices at a Regus center for two years, it was time to take the next step and get a space we can call our own.  Our goal was to save money, something we will be accomplishing in our new space.  The move feels like a new start, our little subsidiary stretching its wings to begin the next growth phase.

My boss let me and our office manager pick out our own furniture for each of our offices.  That also meant that we had to handle the delivery, move the boxes of furniture into the building and up to our second floor suite, then assemble the furniture.

Dang, does that take a long time!  The instructions for my desk alone has over fifty assembly steps to follow.  My credenza took a full day to assemble, especially since I am the muscle in our group of three and spent a lot of time helping out my coworkers.  Tuesday, I started at 7:30 AM, got home around 9 PM.

The new digs are in a two story building with a balcony that overlooks a little courtyard.  Our suite is on the second floor, with exposed wood planked 20 foot ceilings and large sky lights.  My office is at the front of the suite, with a glass front that over looks the courtyard.  We have a little library, nook, and large storage closet.  In the office that I just moved out of, my office was also our stockroom.  Not any more!

My boss has a spacious office at the back of the suite with windows all the way across, with a view of a nice pond and mature trees.  Our office manager has an office in the middle, next to mine, convenient as she has to deal with both my boss and myself.  We both are off of the lobby entrance.

A new place that leaves us with hope for a fresh beginning.  Our little subsidiary is doing very well, growing like it should, beginning to show the signs of our hard work.

2016 looks good!