Déjà vu

Eighteen years ago, when I was pregnant with Buddy Boy and his big sister was a toddler in a car seat and we were driving a 1983 H0nda Acc0rd (I loved that car), I went off the road on the 427 driving from Burlingt0n (where my sister-in-law then lived) to Toronto. I was driving, my husband having imbibed too much to do so at a family dinner, the road was snow covered, visibility was terrible, and the car in front of me was going much too slowly, so I impatiently tried to pass him, and promptly found myself plowing through the snow in the grassy median. Thankfully there was nothing to hit and my husband had the presence of mind to jam the shift into Park so that I eventually came to a stop. Pregnancy hormones had interfered with my ability to gauge the situation correctly, and I reacted inappropriately. Strangers stopped and helped push the car out of the median, and my husband took over the driving and we continued on our way. Taking the car to the garage the next day, it turned out our wheels were slightly out of alignment, but that was all.

Today, driving home from Sh’brooke, I suddenly remembered that situation as I traversed that stretch of road in front of the HeII’s AngeIs’ club house: snow was flying onto the windshield, the road was covered, and I was grateful to have an all-wheel-drive vehicle. I remembered arriving at my parents’ house to find my mother awake, me still shaken up from the incident, the possibility that I might have killed us all, myself, my husband, our daughter and my unborn son, and my mother, while not intentionally so, was very unsympathetic because she was feeling like death warmed over with a terrible sore throat. Such is life.

Anyway, the temperature, if anyone is keeping track (the gourd knows I’m not), is -9°C (or 16°F), and that’s more like what it should be.

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