Walnuts on My Windshield #46
February 1, 2007

Ivan Denisovitch had his day. Here is one of mine.

I go to the grocery on Wednesdays. One week, I have most of the kids with me, and we do Wal-Mart, Country Mart (grocery), and the Tanneyhills (Branson) library. We go home, unload all the Wal-Mart and Country Mart, eat lunch, spend an hour or two at the house, then leave for Springfield, where we may or may not go to Aldi (discount grocery), Sam's, a library, out to eat, and then to church.

On alternate Wednesdays, I just go to the grocery in the morning, and we leave after an early supper for church in Springfield. Such a day was yesterday. I meandered through the grocery - something I can only do when there are no boys along to fight - and got to the checkout with our favorite cashier. I loaded everything up onto the belt - why DID I leave the kids at home?!? - paid for the goods, and told Judy I'd drive up in a red van. Then I whispered to her that it would be a minute, because I had to go to the bathroom. My diuretic starts activating things at 10:00 AM, and although I had hoped to be home by then, I guess I had meandered too long.

Off I trotted to the Little Girls' Room, then out to the car, over to the bank drive-through, and home. I pulled into the driveway, engrossed in my current book on tape, and Jessica came out to the car. I pressed a button to unlock the trunk - gotta love that feeling of power - and told her to get the boys to come help put all the groceries away. She opened the trunk and said, "uh. . . where are they, Mom?" Hmmm… Well, as a matter of fact, they were probably still bagged up in my grocery cart some ten miles away at Country Mart. How perfectly embarrassing!

Jessica got a good laugh out of that, and I headed back to town. Of course, by then I was in bladder agony. The diuretic forces potty stops every 15 minutes for about an hour. So, I drove up to the gas station on the highway to inspect the décor in their bathroom headed back to Branson. Since I didn't know Country Mart's phone number, I called Jessica and asked her to call them and tell Judy I was coming back. When I got there, Judy whipped the cart out, helped me load the van and said, "well, we didn't know where you were, but we figured you'd come back eventually."

With a start like that, I should have realized that it was going to be a challenging day.

At home, we unloaded now-soggy bags of stuff and got it put away. Then chores and academics; normal stuff, but at 12:15, it started snowing. Real snow! It wasn't hail, sleet, or freezing rain; just, tiny powdery flakes of the real thing. Within an hour, there was an inch on the ground, and because it's been so cold, it was sticking to the road. This would normally cause me pure joy, but mine was slightly tempered by the knowledge that at 2:40, I had to head back to Branson yet again to take Andrew to the dentist.

His teeth are a great story in and of themselves, but here I will just give the high (or low) points of that saga. A week earlier, the boys had been riding in the back seat of the van. We don't normally allow them to sit together, because the overabundance of testosterone is usually way too much for one bench seat. However, we were on the way home from our big family dinner out as Katie's Last Supper. She was leaving the next day for an AIM mission trip to California. We were all fat and happy and just didn't want to bother re-arranging the seating chart.

So, the volume back there increased steadily, boy noises of a bodily persuasion broke through occasionally, and the van rocked to and fro as they threw their weight around. The girls and the adults were just trying to ignore them. Then Andrew screamed (no news there), and Josiah scream/sobbed, "ANDREW!!! I didn't mean to do THAT!!!"

The long and short of it was that Josiah had thrown the extra (middle) seat belt toward Andrew, and the metal buckle had hit him square in the lip. Lip being softer than buckle, it split into a quite bloody mess. Worse than that, the buckle had slammed into two of Andrew's lower teeth and broken them in half. Like, broken off, as in 50-75% of each tooth gone. They were permanent teeth.

Now there is a tremendous testimony about those teeth, but back to yesterday. We had an appointment with our dentist, Dr. Wall, at 3:00 PM to have the broken edges of the teeth bonded. Since they had been injured for a week, and since we had been told we had to have this work done ASAP, I was not about to cancel that appointment because of a little snow. Besides, I am from Ohio, where it really snows. I am not ignorant of snow or driving thereon. Now, I am smart enough to avoid ice, but snow is a no-brainer. Frankly, it never occurred to me NOT to go to the dentist.

Dr. Wall tends to run late - very late - no, incredibly late - and we had to be in Springfield (read 45 minutes north of home and 55 minutes north of Branson) at 6:00 PM for an important dinner meeting at church before our Wednesday night Bible study. Therefore, if we had to wait a long time for Dr. Wall, and if the procedure took a while, I knew we'd have to just breeze back by the house to pick up Jessica and Josiah, and then head to Springfield. I told Jess, Jo, and Andrew to put all their snow gear (boots, hats, gloves, etc.) in the back of the van before I left for the dentist. Not knowing about the weather north of home, I wanted to be prepared unless we had trouble later that night.

The snow was coming down harder, so I rushed Andrew and we left for the dentist a few minutes early. About the time I got up to the highway, I realized that I had left my own boots in my closet, so I called Jessica (a.k.a. my lifesaver) and asked her to get them out and put them in the dining room, so I could grab them on the return jaunt. The highway was partially snow-covered and I was surprised. MoDOT is usually out with snowplows right away (sometimes even before it starts snowing!), and our road and the highway always get plowed first. However, it was obvious yesterday that no plows had been out and about yet.

We cruised on into town at about 60 mph, until some bozos slowed down to 35 mph right before our exit. On roads totally covered with a mere half-inch of snow, we threaded through the semi-residential neighborhood near the library toward Dr. Wall's office, which is in a slightly remodeled "little old house." We were three blocks away and could see his office, with only one downhill and one uphill remaining, when an idiot woman in an SUV in front of me stopped in the middle of the road. Stopped. Didn't pull over; just stopped. Now, I could think of several things that could be said about that woman, but I kept my mouth shut and waited. Would she move? Would she go forward down the hill? Would she pull over out of my way? I guess only God knew, and I didn't think to ask him.

I pulled around the idiot woman and, in low gear, began easing my way down the hill. I was pretty sure that it wasn't even slippery, so I decided to test the brakes by very gently tapping them. There was an audible click and NO slowing of the van, so I immediately let off the brake and kept coasting. Only now we were not going straight down the road. No. We were sliding sideways down the hill. Toward the right curb, against which was positioned a bright blue dumpster. Fighting every instinct, I spun the wheel in the direction of the slide and we speeded up. The dumpster was approaching us more quickly now, and I had absolutely no control of the van. At least if the dumpster was full of junk, maybe it would stop us before we plowed into that tree or that house or. . . SLAM! We hit the curb hard right at the dumpster and bounced off. Back in the middle of the road, we spun sideways again, and I could hear my dad (funny how he shows up at times like that), "No, turn TOWARD the slide." OK, Dad. I did, and this time we straightened out.

Now, to get up the next hill to the dentist's office. I gave it a little more gas and slip-slided my way to the crest of the hill, swerving left in front of an oncoming pickup in order to get onto the appropriate side street. I couldn't get the van up into his parking lot, so we left it askance in his driveway, blocking in the one truck that was already there - probably his.

Dr. Wall fixed the teeth; at least as well as they can be fixed until Andrew's mouth stops growing in his late teens and they can be crowned. While the fix was on, Branson's hometown radio station was loudly giving the play-by-play on the weather and traffic. There was an eleven-car pile-up on Highway 76. There were so many fender-benders that the police had officially decided that they would not respond to any accident unless there was an injury or unless one or more of the vehicles could not be driven away. It was now eminently clear that what I had thought was a half-inch layer of snow was more accurately a half-inch layer of snow over a paper-thin layer of ice. Wicked.

We prepared to pay our money and take our chances. I paid (well, actually Scott paid in absentia, being our sole bread-winner), ushered Andrew back into the cock-eyed van and gave him a stern talking to: "We are going to be FINE. God is going to take care of us and everything will be all right. We will get home. We may slip and slide from time to time, but we will be FINE. I cannot talk to you or answer any of your questions while I am driving in this weather. You will have to be quiet or pray. Now is not the time to cry. Do you understand?" He said he did.

Then I did what any self-respecting woman would do: I called my husband. I told him where we were and how I planned to go. He advised me to go a different way that might be less steep and would let me back out onto the main drag on the level, instead of making a sharp up or downhill turn with no visibility. I agreed that that made sense, and in my favorite gear - low -we headed off.

To get to that glorious level location, we would have to go uphill for about three blocks. For the first block, the uphill was slight and we chugged up. As we began the second block, where the hill got steeper, we began sliding backwards. It was not a good feeling. Andrew kept praying and I began my "turning into the slide" action with the steering wheel. I glanced down at the prandle handle, hoping that some gear lower than "one" had miraculously appeared, but it had not. We spun almost a full circle and slammed into and up onto a curb. Something (either the front axle or some other part of the undercarriage) scraped rudely across the curb and we came to a stop - at a 45 degree angle, wedged up on the curb and with the left rear quarter of the van sticking out into the street.

I called Scott again: "We're OK, but we are stuck and I am a little concerned." He was a calming influence, but that was about it. He was in Springfield trying to scrape snow off his car to possibly come help me. I knew that if he could even get to where we were, it would take him over an hour, and if he did show up, I didn't know how he could extricate either his car or the van from this location. I told him I'd try to do something, and I hung up.

There weren't a whole lot of options. On the other side of the curb was an almost-empty parking lot, but the only way to get the van into it would be for it to do some kind of Olympic high jump. With Andrew praying, I tried to back up off the curb. After a couple tries, I spun wildly off the curb (freedom!), and out into the street. Trying to get the van headed back down the same the hill we had just inched up resulted in more spinning, more loss of control, and another curb slam/scrape in exactly the same spot. I again managed to back the beast off the curb (insert really gross scraping sounds - the kind you do NOT want to have to tell your husband about) and slightly up the hill. I again lost control and we went spinning wildly, but this time, instead of slamming into our favorite section of curb, we slid into the parking lot and landed, as Andrew put it, "on dry ground." Thank you, God.

At that point, I decided to get out and walk one block around the corner to the main drag to see what it actually looked like. That sounded like a smart idea. Knowing the condition of the main drag (Hwy 76 in front of the Presbyterian Church for you locals) would help me decide if I should try to drive or just leave the van and look for shelter. I was wearing tennis shoes with fairly slick soles, and I again mentally kicked myself for leaving my snow boots at home. However, there was nothing else to be done, so I told Andrew exactly where I was going and to sit tight, and I got out and tried to walk across the inclined parking lot. This was easier said than done. It looked like plain old, wet, black asphalt, but it was icy. I almost fell but didn't, got to the main drag, which was partially snow covered but looked drive-able, at least if I headed downhill, and hobbled my way back to the van. On the way, I watched two SUVs struggle up the same hill I had attempted, and what they did was just about as aesthetically pleasing as what I had done - three times.

Andrew had been crying because I had gone out of sight around the corner and he thought I was dead. I calmed him down, and suddenly a red SUV (not one of the just-mentioned two) that had been going down the hill turned around and started back up - toward us! The man in it asked if I needed help. What a nice guy! I told him I was trying to get back on the main drag to go home but obviously had not yet succeeded. He advised trying to exit the parking lot, making a hard left, gunning it up over a small rise, then creeping down to the main drag. The right turn onto the main drag would be blind, because there is a high retaining wall there that keeps you from seeing the main drag traffic until after you have turned into it.

I did as the man said and at the top of the rise, knowing I wouldn't be able to stop at the approaching stop sign, and knowing no one would be able to see me until I slid into the main drag, I began honking continually. I made it down the rise, swerved right, and thankfully entered the main drag between two cars (instead of into the side of either of them). From there, we inched our way to the highway and toward home. Traffic on the highway was heavy and moving slowly, but we made it to our exit.

Our own road, a US highway, is a winding, two-lane affair. There's about a mile of curving downhill and then a mile of more-or-less flat to get to our house. Perched at the top of the downhill and with two cars behind me, I was appalled to see that there was only one set of car tracks in the middle of the road! I had no idea what I would do if I met anyone coming up while we were going down. The combination of no shoulders and significant drop-offs can be tricky in good weather. Taking a deep breath and reminding Andrew to keep praying, I started down. Thankfully, within a quarter mile or so, the path widened to 1 ½ tracks, and we made it home fine.

Once home, I decided I did NOT want to go back out and drive to Springfield for a dinner, a meeting, or a Bible study, so we made Tuna Mac and stayed home. It snowed again in the evening, and this morning, we have almost two inches on the ground. Our road is clear, but I am staying home today.

Until Next Time,
Patty

From My Book Pile:

(Note: I am changing my ratings to a 1 Low to 5 High system. Some online voracious reader friends use that ranking, so to be consistent there, I am adopting their method. Also, since I rarely rank anything lower than 6 anyway, this should work well.)

If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name: News from Small-Town Alaska by Heather Lende, rank 3. Heather writes a "Duly Noted" column and the obituaries for a small weekly paper in Haines, Alaska. The book is a collection of her essays, each based around one of her obits. It does a good job of showing what life in Alaska is like, but it's not my favorite Alaska book.

Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea by Charles Seife, rank 4. This was a brain-sweat book about the whole concept of zero, where it came from, how it progressed, what it influenced, and why. It dealt with geometry, algebra, calculus, philosophy, and history. I liked it, but I could never have gotten through it had it not been on audio.

The Long Walk by Slavomir Rawicz, rank 5, was recommended by my friend, Marilyn, and I LOVED it! It is the (supposedly) true story of a man who escaped from a Russian concentration camp 1939 and attempted, with a few companions, to walk from Siberia to India (including crossing the Gobi desert and the Himalayas!) carrying little more than a knife and some dried meat. If it is true, it's amazing, and if it is not true is it amazing. Hard to put down!

Blue Genes: Breaking Free from the Chemical Imbalances that Affect Your Moods, Your Mind, Your Life, and Your Loved Ones by Dr. Paul Meier, M.D., rank 4. It was helpful for Josiah and me, but it contained numerous grammatical errors. (Note: as a result of this book, we have made some very positive med changes.)

Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Humanity, and War by Nathaniel Philbrick, rank 3. Although interesting, this long audio book got rather tedious. History and geography are always intertwined, but history books on tapes never seem to have maps. = ) This book reminded me that in most conflicts there's not one side that is totally right and one that's totally wrong.

Mexifornia: A State of Becoming by Victor Davis Hanson, rank 4. Another audio book. Very well-researched and compelling. Again, it shows the two (or many more) sides to the immigration situation. Quite informative.

Hey Mom, Can I Ride My Bike Across America?: Five Kids Meet Their Country by John Seigel Boettner, rank 5. I loved this book. I got it free from paperbackswap.com and even though it occurred in the 1980s, I totally got into it. A middle school teacher and his wife who were avid cyclists trained a group of six students and then took them on a bicycle trip from Washington, D.C. back home to California. Each kid carried all his own gear (minus food, which was purchased as they rode) on his bike. Amazing story!

Left for Dead by Beck Weathers, rank 4. This is Beck Weathers' personal account of the 1996 Everest tragedy, including lots of autobiographical background and psychological musings. Although his story is remarkable, the book was not my favorite Everest chronicle.

Toughing it Out: The Adventures of a Polar Explorer and Mountaineer David Hempleman-Adams, rank 3. This guy has been to both poles numerous times and climbed the Seven Summits, plus a lot of other adventures. It was pretty good and worth reading, but I am so ready for a istian to do some major exploring and then write about it.

The Most Incredible Prison Escape of the Civil War by Fred Conway, rank 4. This was really something. It reminded me of the WWII POWs who tunneled out of a German prison some 80 years later.

Quote of the Week:

"Every immigrant who comes here should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country." Theodore Roosevelt

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