Day 21: First Things (Not) First

It’s after midnight. I just got back from a harrowing drive, after visiting friends in Boston. I knew there might be flurries, but wasn’t prepared (why not?! It’s January!) for the little storm that went on my entire time in New Hampshire. I grew up driving in this weather, and I never used to get too worked up about it. I also know to do certain things: drive slowly, look out for the crazy people going 65 in an inch of soupy slishy snow, don’t drive at all if you don’t have to, and, of course, put your studded snow tires on in November.

My studded snows are in the shed. It’s January 15th, and they’re in the shed. I drive my children around, and their friends, and myself, and my husband, and I’m on summer radials. Growing up in the town I did, with dirt roads and big ditches, you just didn’t question certain things, like your studs. But now I live at a lower elevation, closer to “town”, more plows going by, and I have found 47 other things to do rather than prepare my car for winter. I don’t even have a snow brush in there, just a scraper.

I do have jumper cables, because I bought them about the year 5 BK (Before Kids). I bought a really thick-cabled kind, not the cheap-o ones that crack where they have bent all season in your trunk. I used them to help a friend the other day. In fact, I had a moment of self-righteousness coupled with fear for my friends, when she asked a group of a dozen women for a jump, and I was the only one with cables. I had a feeling something like, “I was brought up right.”  So I’m embarrassed to admit about my tires.

But that’s not all.

I finally made it home, after three and a half grueling hours, half of it in the storm, and during the last 30-40 minutes I was hallucinating. The constant white snow pouring down at me caused optical illusions that maybe the car wasn’t moving at all, but I was sitting in a movie and watching snow come at me. I couldn’t see the lines in the road at all; I judged where I should be by the rumble strips on the right and the truck passing me on the left. I kept envisioning my children, and how much I loved them and wanted to get safely home to them. When I finally got home, I was shaking, my shoulders were up around my ears, and despite my best efforts, I think I had forgotten to breathe for a lot of the trip. My husband had a hot bath pouring for me, and I soaked and breathed and shook. It’s amazing, how cavalier I used to be about trips like that, before kids. Now it matters to me so much to be around for them.

So I sat in the tub and I let the true feelings have their say.

I was scared. I was really scared. I was afraid one of those cars going 60 was going to need to stop, and we were all going to plow collectively into a tree. I was afraid of slipping into the Connecticut River with no one around to see. I was afraid I wasn’t going to make it home to my family. I feared my hallucinations were going to blind me to a pedestrian on my road.

And as I sat in the tub, I knew I would have been much safer and felt much safer if I had had on my studded snow tires. They’re like little-bitty cramp-ons for your car. There is a huge difference in the way the tire grips the road. You still need to drive carefully, of course, but it’s the difference between climbing a mountain in sneakers or summertime flip-flops.

And why didn’t I have them on? Because I haven’t been putting first things first. There are a lot of things sexier than getting snow tires on. Granted, it is logistically challenging: I can either transport kids or my big tires, not both. But I could have done it a dozen times since fall and just haven’t.

As I steamed in the tub, I went over the other safety-first things I haven’t done: our “basement” is a disaster. No light except the one you carry around on the extension cord. The stairs are a death trap; I won’t go down there because I’m certain the stair will break and it’ll be like you’re trapped at the bottom of a well. Our front hallway is cluttered and a safety hazard when I’m fetching coolers for deliveries.

I don’t want to tell this stuff about our house. But I take comfort that not many people will read this. And, I need to make a commitment to myself, and this is the best way I know to do it. I am going to call the carpenter guy and see if he can build us a set of simple, safe stairs to the basement, and since we don’t have a lot of money at the moment, maybe his wife likes jewelry, and I can trade him for some of my earrings or necklaces, or even a personal session to design something for her. And I’m going to call the electrician to put in a couple of simple, safe lights in the basement that will go on with a switch and keep hands free. Maybe he can take a trade in a mixed case of Yummy Yammy, frozen for use over time.

And Monday, on the holiday, I’m going to pay the girls a nickel for each piece of sports equipment they haul in to the kitchen from the hallway, and we’re going to go through it all and get it tamed so it’s not spilling all over the one entrance to the shed. Right now there is everything from butcher block chunks to skateboards, pogo sticks to hockey sticks, golf clubs to unused Sorel boots, all sitting out there ready to trip us as we go by.

And, needless to say, Monday morning (assuming they are open on MLK, Jr. Day) I’m taking the tires in.

A little life and death energy might be just what I needed to get my priorities straight.

Lisa Johnson, Y’Ambassador, Yummy Yammy