A day with many levels

Today marks the twentieth anniversary of the Loma Prieta earthquake. I wasn't there — I was far away in Princeton, NJ, but remember paying attention to it. Later, I would have a parishioner who had gone out to San Francisco for a business trip and his first day there lived through the earthquake. Apparently other crazy things have happened where he has travelled.

But for me, this date has long had other associations — 41 years ago on a Thursday afternoon, I left school on my bicycle, heading for home and then to choir practice. I never made it because I skidded on sand on the school driveway which was a 'U' turn hill and went flying over the handlebars of my bicycle and landed in the hospital with a bad concussion (it explains everything, right?), totally scraped face, and broken upper maxilla.

And then the following year on the exact same date, my sister got hit head-on by a drunk driver as she was driving to the train station to pick up my father who commuted to NYC daily. She ended up with a broken nose and he a collapsed lung but since he was pals with the police chief, he only got a $25 ticket. I had opted out at the last minute not to go with her; otherwise, who knows what would have happened because when she saw the guy coming at her, she turned so he hit the passenger side. He totalled both cars.

So every October 17th, I give thanks that we both are alive, neither of us scarred. But I also take this date very carefully... so I pray as I drive to someone's house for dinner tonight that all the deer and moose stay far, far, far away.