So I get home from work Monday fully intending to be useful and productive the whole evening long. It’s the first day of our Christmas vacation from court-reporting school, and so it’s the first Monday evening I’ve been home in months.
I thought I’d cook a real dinner, do the Christmas cards, read a little bit, go to bed early.
Then I get a call from daughter No. 2, panicked and crying. She had been rear-ended at a red light in Oregon City, and she needed me to come and get her. So I turned off the burners on the stove and swung into action. Her back and neck hurt, and so we needed to go to the emergency room and have it checked out.
Four hours later the problem has been determined to be whiplash, and daughter No. 1 and grandson No. 1 are determined to be uninjured, and we’re driving through McDonald’s on the way home.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be of service, and I’m glad that everyone is well, and all that. But these events tempt me just to sit back wait for the next crisis, rather than attempt to do anything that will take thought and effort and concentration.
I’ve heard the old saying, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans,” and I believe it, but if everyone put all their emphasis on that definition of “life,” nobody would ever accomplish anything extraordinary. “Balance,” of course — as so often — is the answer, which is a quick and easy way of saying, “negotiating hard decisions and coming up with unsatisfactory answers.” Welcome to life, Jan.
And the folks who are waiting for our Christmas cards will probably get them in time for Old Calendar Christmas — sooner if I drop the annual Christmas letter; later if not.