My Monday had a schedule. My car had something else in mind.
At 1:30 yesterday I left work to pick up my carpool buddy (aka Spouse) so he could drive me to have an MRI (routine test for an annoying condition - nothing to report here, folks). The thing is, I am terribly claustrophobic. So I had my doctor prescribe a little help that would take the edge off in the form of 5 mg of Diazepam.
I popped that sucker about a mile from the back entrance of the hospital where hubby works and was heading up the hill that leads to a circular parking lot to pick him up.
I thought at first that I had run over a chunk of snow or something, but there wasn't anything in my rear view mirror. However, I suddenly noticed the snow bank in front of me was approaching rather rapidly and I couldn't turn the steering wheel.
Do you know what we are? We are a generation that has become weak and spoiled by power steering. I forgot how many muscles it takes to steer a car without that pesky belt that operates - well - everything. My helpful husband later explained how there used to be a few different belts as part of a car's inner workings such as power steering, alternator, water and air pumps. At some point the powers that build decided to simplify the process and make one belt for several processes. Do you know what happens when that belt decides to part ways with its position?
It sucks up your battery until it kills your car if you're not smart enough to shut it off - which I wasn't - but my more mechanically savvy half was, and he shut 'er down as soon as he realized what had happened. By the way, he shared that bit of auto history after he ripped a couple of layers of skin off his hand when it got stuck against a hot surface while trying to fit the dang belt back in position. I called AAA while he bandaged his hand.
Normally this would have really upset me. But as you may recall, this was right about the time the Diazepam kicked in. I didn't really care about much at that point.
We had an interesting ride with the AAA driver (once I managed to hike up the side of that mountainous flatbed truck and throw myself into the seat). He was a friendly, chatty guy who had just moved into the area recently and had plenty of stories to tell. And then we were at our mechanic's place with no way to get home.
Within just a few minutes of leaving an open Facebook message and dialing a couple of numbers, our friend Sandi was on her way, our friend Monique was waiting in the wings offering to come if needed, and our friend Anne was asking if we needed anything.
I didn't care about the car or having to reschedule my MRI or what the cost of the repair will be - maybe because of that little pill that kept me calm, or maybe because it just wasn't what mattered.
What mattered was that even if our car only wants to go in one direction, we have much to be thankful for. Because friends come from all directions.