Last night, under a full moon, I was driving my three in-town grandsons (ages 5, 7, and 9) home from an outing at Chuckee Cheese. We heard a sudden popping noise. The youngest, Oliver, thought it was fireworks. But Alex, the clever second grader, knew right away it was a flat tire. I had driven over a sharp metal object in the middle of a six-lane road ironically named Normal Boulevard, and it punctured a rear tire. I hadn't seen the object in the dark. We were able to safely limp the car back to their house.
I am grateful no one was hurt.
I am grateful it happened during a Huskers home game, so there was almost NO traffic.
I am grateful it wasn't one of the two brand new expensive tires I bought only two months ago.
I am grateful I have front wheel drive (it was a rear tire).
I am grateful that it happened on a weekend, and not on my way to or from work in rush hour traffic.
I'll be driving (very little) on a "donut" tire until Tuesday.
On this 10th anniversary of 9/11, my tiny disaster is placed in proper perspective. As I recall 9/11, it was a huge collective gasp or sob.
Something had punctured the Soul of America, and deflated our hopes and prosperity and sense of security as 3,000 innocent victims and first responders were killed in senseless acts of terrorism. What began as a beautiful sunny day was shrouded in clouds of smoke and ash.
And a cloud of fear still hovers menacingly over us, even on beautiful sunny days.
LeAnn aka pasqueflower