There is a powerful, life-giving phenomenon, called the Humboldt Current, in the Pacific Ocean of South America. Its positive effects reach for miles to unlikely places and in unlikely ways. These are my education goals for the children I teach on the North Dakota prairie -- fall in love with learning, then go change your world…

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Flying Cows and Birthday Musings

Today was special before I had even hit the snooze button for the third time.  I awoke with two primary foci on my brain.

a.     I was cold.
b.     Today is my 50th birthday.

The cold was dispelled after pulling the comforter up under my chin.  The aging thing…  well, there is no fix for that.

I was in a bit of a distracted flurry as I went through the motions of getting ready to leave the house.  Mrs. Dahl loves a party, so I had decided to throw my own at work and had stayed up until midnight making espresso cheesecake for my coworkers.  I grabbed a few decorative items for a splash of panache, and hurried to load the van in order to get there good and early.

Hannah has begun track season, so she informed me last night that she would be riding in early with me in order to run before school.  She does NOT love to get up early, but bless her heart, she was ready and waiting at 6:45. 

I had just gone a couple of miles north when I saw a single headlight on the opposite side of the road.  I did a little rubbernecking as I went past wondering if someone was having car trouble and needed help.  There was a man standing beside his car, but from my limited view, the car looked fine, so I went past.  Cell service is so spotty around here that folks often pull off the road in order to capture a signal and place a call.

I had gone maybe a couple of hundred yards when without warning I hit a wall, hard and fast.  I had set the cruise control at 63 mph.  I had not seen my immovable object, so there had been no slowing or braking.  I had slammed it full force. 

My mind struggled to process what had just happened.  I had seen nothing in the road.  It was still dark out, the darkness that precedes dawn and is inky black.  In the suspended seconds after impact, I somehow became aware the there was a very large object lying in the road just ahead of me.  With sickening awareness I realized it was a cow.  It seemed as though I saw the one on the road and saw a second cow jettison to my right at nearly the same time.  I may have that mixed up.  It is hard to know for sure.

I guess instinct took over for I must have swerved to avoid the cow lying in the road.  I jerked the wheel hard right and Hannah and I launched into the grassy ditch at breakneck speed.  Was I braking?  Was I accelerating?  I have not a clue.  I was screaming.  I am pretty sure of that.  I said something ridiculous like, “Hannah, be safe!”  Sort of like saying to someone you love, “Don’t forget to breath today!”

I felt the wheels slide on the damp grass and hated the sensation of being out of control.  Whatever was about to happen was out of my ability to prevent.  In those milliseconds, I truly wondered if the jig was up.  Without warning, the airbags deployed and punched each of us in the face with split-second force.  I was certain we were about to either tumble into a roll or break through a fence line.  I braced for impact..  

And then, just like that, we came to a stop; a beautiful, right-side-up, slowing stop.  I have a theory about that.  I think there were unseen Beings, possibly wearing superhero capes, locking arms and taking the brunt of a runaway vehicle until it slowed to a stop.  I am grateful for Guardian Angels, today more than ever.

When we were done moving, Hannah and I sat there in shocked silence trying to gather our wits and let our brains catch up to the events of the last few seconds.  The air was filling with the stench of airbag propellant and there was stuff strewn everywhere.  The most ridiculous things pop in your head at times such as that.  I suddenly wondered if the cheesecake had survived the impact.  Staying up till midnight gave it high priority, I guess.  I turned to Hannah, who was ashen.  “Are you alright?”  She nodded silently.  So brave…  I couldn’t help but be proud of her stoicism. 

The man who had slaughtered the first cow was walking towards me and I opened the door for him.  As he neared us, he asked with concern, “Everyone OK?”  I tried to answer and realized that I was a little shaky and a lot incoherent.  “I’m sorry,” I apologized.  “I guess I’m in shock.”  Our hands instinctively reached for each other – the need to seek comfort is primal.

“I should call someone,” I stammered.  “My phone…” I couldn’t find my phone.  I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to hear my husband’s voice.  “Do you have a phone?” I asked my co-victim.  Learning his battery was nearly dead, and assured we were okay, he left to seek the assistance of the nearest farmhouse.

I rummaged through my purse and found the missing phone.  At least I had had the good sense to charge it the night before.  Hearing my husband’s voice finally pulled the tears to the surface that had been sitting just under.  “We had an accident,” I blurted out.  “A bad accident,” I added for emphasis.  “Oh, honey… “ His reassuring voice gave me courage and some mental clarity.

I was aware that I was crying as I hung up.  He would be right there and all would be well.  I realized that Hannah was now sobbing as well as the adrenaline surge subsided.  “Oh, sweetie.”  I urged her to get out of the van and then pulled her into my arms.  We clung to one another and cried our relief and horror into each other.  Cleansing sobs that helped relieve the stress.

The other cow murderer was back and I handed him my phone.  He called 911 and we once again assessed the other for personal damage.  As I climbed back into the stinking warmth of the crippled van, I thought about the call that was surely going out to the men and women of my community.  We rely on volunteer firefighters and ambulance personnel.  City services are miles away.  So when the emergency 911 call goes out and radios crackle to life calling all to their stations, anyone with a scanner begins to immediately wonder, “Who among my neighbors is it this time?”  Several of my fellow teachers drive ambulance or are certified EMTs.  I could envision them halting their morning rituals to throw on old clothes and head to the emergency with trepidation.

My husband arrived and took me into his arms while I shed a few more tears and basked in the comfort of his innate strength.  “I’m just glad my girls are alright,” he murmured close to my ear.  I nodded, thankful for his swift arrival.  Still no official vehicles.  It was cold this morning, and Hannah and I began to shiver.  The smell in the van seemed to worsen, but we chose warmth.  I realized I was once again fixated on that stupid cheesecake and had to chuckle as I realized I must have left it at home. 

As I sat there replaying things in my head and casting worried glances at my daughter, I looked up in time to see my superintendent climb out of his car.  I walked over to him and gave him an “aw, shucks” grin.  “I might be late today.”  Humor returning was a very good sign.  He looked at me with an “are you serious??” look.  “I think you and Hannah need to go home and stay there for the day.”  “We’re fine!”  I protested.  “Trust me,” he urged.  About one o’clock you are both going to be hurting.  You need to be home and rest.”  “I’ll call you when we are finished here,” I compromised.  He nodded and smiled.

Now the parade of flashing lights was showing up.  The next hour became a blur of questioning by the sheriff’s deputy (a very nice man), EMTs, and firefighters.  There were people waving traffic through the maze of dead animals and the trail of car parts littering the highway.  The good people working the ambulance sat us in the back and covered us with blankets, allowing the warmth to soak into our rattled bones.  These same people, our friends and neighbors, hovered and fussed and warmed not just our shivering bodies, but our traumatized hearts as well.  God bless each one!

Hannah and I have spent this day doing very little as physical and mental exhaustion set in.  John and I headed back to the scene just a bit ago to see if the disfigured Beast was drivable enough to limp back home.  It wasn’t.  As we walked around it surveying damage, one of my students and his brother came running across the road to greet me.  I held out my arms and they happily flew into my wounded embrace.  Of course they had heard all about it (I suspect it was discussed at some length on and off all day).  They were so relieved and happy that I was okay.  I was just as happy to see them.

As John and the rancher chatted and filled a flat tire on the van, I walked the ditch gathering pieces of auto body like wildflowers in a meadow.  I do not know why I felt compelled to tidy up.  I have no explanation.

My sweet husband has the grill fired up on this beautiful night as we are all too tired to go out.  There will be steaks (yes, I get the irony), and potatoes, and of course, cheesecake for dessert. 

I have been a bit contemplative lately, as I prepared to wade into the waters of my fifth decade.  What is it I believe are the rock foundations of my personal creed?  Who is Vonda Dahl, the middle-aged woman?

Here it is; my personal creed:

I want to look into the face of each new day with wide-eyed wonder, love deeply those in my universe, forgive when I least feel like it, find humor in the serious, acknowledge my Creator as the source of all strength, run headlong down each new path, and recognize that each day is a priceless gift, even the common ones. 

I want to live each day with my eulogy in mind.

Today’s brutal reminder of just how fragile and uncertain life can be confirms all that I believe.  I am finite and eternal.   I am also blessed beyond measure.

Pass the cheesecake…


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