Humble Pie

Okay, you know how in my last post I wrote about how we ignore those irritating alarms? As I was reading my emails this morning I heard a car alarm go off. I didn't bother to get up and check it out. Not my problem, right? About forty-five minutes later I walked into the kitchen to get coffee and breakfast. I glanced out the kitchen window and was instantly panicked because I didn't see my car in the driveway. I rushed into the living room, bellowing at my husband, "Where is my f...in' car?" My heart was racing and my mind was reeling. Why hadn't I paid attention to the warning and gotten off my butt to take a look? My husband, always the calm in my storm, remained seated in his armchair while he suggested that I look in the carport. Okay, my car was parked there, but then "Then where is your car?" blurted out of my mouth.

Last week we had a winter storm and all the trees and shrubs had been coated with a thick layer of ice, causing their branches to bend and bow with the weight. After the melt, the branches sprang back and the trees stood tall and strong. All but the huge spruce tree that stood sentry at the entrance to our driveway. It remained a leaning tower of nature, like a giant Christmas tree askew in its stand, threatening to topple onto our cars and possibly our house. There was not much we could do but wait until the tree specialist could get by to take a look at it. We hoped we could save it. In the meantime, we began parking both our cars out of its path in case the bulging mound of earth holding it at a thirty degree angle would give up its burden and let it fall to the ground.

On Thursday we had another ice storm. Freezing rain again coated every untreated surface, the yard and driveway a virtual ice rink, the trees drooping like weary nursing home residents. When I awoke early on Friday morning I was not at all surpirsed to see the hulking mass of limbs and greenery sprawled across the lawn, the spruce tree having given up the battle to stand upright. Luckily there was no other damage to home, vehicles, or phone lines but I was saddened by the loss of this tree.

Now that the tree was down and the threat of damage to our cars abated my husband had parked his car in his usual spot in the driveway, out of sight of the kitchen window. He just rolled his eyes as he watched my panic turn to realization, then relief, and finally embarrassment. I had experienced a momentary lapse of memory after ten days of seeing both cars parked end to end just outside that window. Now he is contemplating an appropriate Christmas gag gift for our next crazy family get-together. And now I know just a bit of how it would feel to have your vehicle stolen out from under your nose while the warning alarms were ignored by all as just a common nuisance. I am humbled.