'Twas Two Days Before Christmas ...

'Twas two days before Christmas and the valley was covered in a thin sheet of ice and snow. My morning commute, against traffic, and therefore in generally-as-yet-unplowed territory, was trecherous. I crept up the block, then slogged up the hill. The far lane - the one leading to the Interstate that would lead to work - wasn't cleared at all. On a normal basis, I loathe driving in the snow - the constant state of panic about what my car - and the hundreds of cars around me - are going to do at any given second.

I know the "rules" about driving in snow, but it doesn't make it any better. With Woodstock in the car, everything gets ratcheted up times ten.

Tuesday, with blowing snow and ice-coated streets, wasn't any different, unless possibly, given the uncleared lane, it was worse. I made the hard right onto the on-ramp, in low gear, going 10 mph. Just enough to make the turn. Immediately, before the car had time to recover from the turn or figure out what was going on, I hit a solid sheet of ice. I quickly assessed the situation and decided at all costs, that I had to keep the car from sliding into the guard rail and potentially into traffic. I steered into the skid, did what I could ... and slid, nearly head-on, into a wall - 270 degrees from the direction in which I had been facing when I began.

CRUNCH. The fleeting feeling of helplessness and tension filled my body as the wall approached. I tried to keep one eye on the wall and one on the cars behind me - would they hit the same patch of ice? The one that slid a little, would it hit me broadside, as I was now perpendicular across the on-ramp? I counted my breaths to keep the rising agony at bay. Woodstock was on the side of the car that would be hit by any oncoming traffic, should they not be able to navigate their way around me.

I've never been in an accident while driving before, and I was in no mood to figure out what to do about it now. The first thing I had to do, damage to my front end be damned, was to get Woodstock out of harm's way. Except, that meant backing up, toward the downward slope and traffic and the guardrail, over the same sheet of ice that had put me in this predicament to begin with. I wanted to close my eyes as I put the car in reverse, but I figured that would only make matters worse. Truly making matters worse was the blind turn that cars entering the interstate had to make from the road to the on-ramp - and I was right in their path.

What felt like minutes, but was in fact only seconds, later, I was facing the right direction. I drove a little ways down the on-ramp until the shoulder widened to where I felt minimally safer pulling over and letting my breath out. At least Woodstock was out of the direct-impact zone. I dialed Himself.

Of course, he was concerned about our safety, but the next sentence was, "which car did you take?" I replied, "the Acura, of course." Of course, because I've only ever managed to damage the nicer of whatever two cars we've owned.

Still afraid to risk life, limb and tailbone (the shoulder was ice, however), to see the damage, I continued on my way, dropping Woodstock off, then making it (half-an-hour late) to the office. When I finally stepped out to examine the damage, I was perplexed.

While I was only going 10 mph when I went into the skid, I was a moving object that came to rest upon impact with a standing object, which would necessarily require that the object with the lesser mass (the car) would suffer impact damage. (I did learn something in physics, which I figured was pretty much impossible).

What I saw however, could not be. The license plate was crumpled almost beyond recognition. The license plate holder looked rather forlorn. The bumper had popped a couple of pins, and ... nothing else. To be certain, the front end was covered in snow, but even when I half-heartedly (not really wanting to see any damage) brushed it away, I could find no other evidence of having hit a concrete wall at a 75-degree angle.

Later, I took the car into the mechanic to get a good once-over - completely certain that there had to be more damage - the radiator, the air conditioning unit - something in the front that must have certainly cracked or jarred loose on impact.

The service tech came to find me.
"So you really hit a wall, huh?"
"Yes."

He went on to explain that the license plate holder was damaged beyond repair - though they had hammered my license plate back into something resembling, well, a license plate rather than a crumpled ball of foil. There were some bumper pins that needed replacing and ... that was it. $40 of parts, they were waiving the labor (since I also needed an oil change, new windshield wipers and surprise! the tires that we hoped would be okay for another month were not, actually, okay).

I nearly hugged the tech. $40? I hit a wall and the worst outcome was a $40 debit from my checking account? (In reality, it was over $400 - tires, oil change and wipers were not, unfortunately free - but weren't on the "accident" tab).

I prayed on the way back to the office. I celebrated the miracle of life, of morning prayers uttered to "keep us safe and bless us as we drive," of the man upstairs who knew that just once, I needed something to go my way.

The car parked in my driveway now, waiting for our trek to the southern desert to visit family, is testament that miracles still happen.

Merry Christmas.