Willie and Waylon do it for me. Spent and will spend the rest of my life until Christmas Day in the frameshop working to get the orders out (and money in!), but that doesn’t mean my mind doesn’t wander away from the jobs at hand. I’m anxious to write—to finish the story I started a post or two ago; and to read, and to hide away from the world until this year is over.
Saturday my niece was in an auto accident—on the way to have the car cleaned up to be sold before they leave for Spain later this week. A van hit a dump truck and careened into the driver side of her car. Luckily, she was alone (without the three kids) and luckily, although I’m sure it was hell for him to watch, her husband was following in his own car. She’s okay, we think; they kept her overnight in the hospital because of a serious concussion, but it could have been worse. The car was totaled, and it took a half hour to get her out of the car by cutting the roof.
I can’t take too much more of the losses, (a 50-year old neighbor with six children died last Sunday of a heart attack, a terrific guy) and the near losses keep me on edge.
I know it doesn’t compute, but I really, really want this year to be over.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology