Bud the Teacher

    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.