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Too Close For Comfort

A near miss that changed my life

I can still see the terror in her eyes. She was young, frightened, and eight months pregnant. I’m as guilty as anyone in that I take near misses for granted. But there is one thing that I will never take for granted and that is the night I came within inches of a head-on collision with a very pregnant woman.

My sister Debbie and I have always been close. Just one year apart and many domestic battles won and lost. We share 99.9% of the same chromosomes and a similar sense of humor. When we are breathing the same air and we find something funny, we laugh until snot covers our faces. This has always and will always be the way we are together. I honestly believe there is no other human who gets me the way she does. Trust is everything if you are to allow yourself to be vulnerable. Our defenses disappear when we are together.

It was a very rainy January night in North Carolina. I was home from University for the weekend and Debbie and I needed to get away from our annoying stepfather. His smoking and drinking was always extreme and our appetite for his nonsense on this particular evening was nil. Without knowing a thing about the impending weather, we ran out of the house and jumped into my Chevy Nova. The rain was heavy and it was chilly, but North Carolina temps rarely went below freezing. We were so pleased that we’d gotten away, we were giddy. “Where do you wanna go?” Debbie asked as she shook off the rain. I replied, “I need BBQ.”

Heavy rain battered the windshield; and the radio was turned way up. We drove on a long stretch of roadway known for speedsters. About halfway to the restaurant, the music was interrupted by an emergency announcement: a cold front was due to arrive at any moment and a deep freeze was expected. I had only arrived in North Carolina months before and I had never experienced a southern deep freeze. Debbie said, “I don’t think it will affect Salisbury. I’m sure it will be worse at the coast;” I shrugged it off.

What happened next was so surreal, I still can’t really wrap my head around it. Within seconds, everything froze. My car began to swerve and we laughed. Clearly others had heard the warning and stayed off the roads. I cannot recall having even an ounce of fear or concern (a problem when you’re young). Debbie seemed to take it in stride and it felt like a very slippery joyride. I recall pointing to frozen solid telephone lines and lampposts, amazed at how thick the ice was. We found ourselves in an unexpected and unwelcome winter wonderland; nearly gliding on the ice.

Debbie was so tickled by the circumstances, she screamed gleefully. Her laughter as always was contagious; so much so my belly hurt. Suddenly our silly joy was interrupted by a jolt; the car spun out of control. I tried turning the steering wheel to the left and right, with no luck; pressing the brake pedal only made it worse. We spun numerous times before finally finding ourselves headed in the wrong direction with a car coming straight for us. I panicked and Debbie screamed. We were not slowing down and I was certain we were going to have a head-on collision. I slammed on the brakes and we spun again, this time sliding inches away from the car we were headed for. I looked out and saw that there was a young woman slumped over in the driver´s seat. I got out of my car and tentatively approached her vehicle. I noticed she was draped over the steering wheel and weeping uncontrollably. I was concerned that she was hurt. I knocked on her window with my knuckles and she looked up. It was then that I noticed that she was extremely pregnant.

She opened her door, stepped out of her car and through her tears, asked if I was okay. I said, I’m fine, are you okay? She said she was okay, but admitted to being a bit shocked; she was shaking badly. I told her that my car had spun out of control and that we ended up on the wrong side of the road. She expressed her relief that we had not collided and I adamantly agreed. She told me that she was about eight months pregnant and on her way to pick up her husband from work. She had also not heard anything about the ice storm. This all happened way before cell phones. Being that the temps were below freezing and there were no other cars in sight, the only thing we could do was to get back in our cars and drive away slowly.

When I returned to my car my sister was sitting very still. When she finally spoke she asked if the other driver was okay. I told her everything and she started crying. The whole ordeal shook us to our core. I told her that we needed to head home and she nodded. I don’t like thinking about what could have happened, but that’s where my mind goes — perhaps that’s not a bad thing. I still don’t know for certain that she returned home safely; I certainly hope she did.

______________________________________________

My driving was never the same after this incident. I’m more careful about weather conditions, I’m more cautious behind the wheel, and my Uber app gets a lot of use. Oh, and I live in a place that never has ice or snow.

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Future Travel

A couple of short local trips to Spain and parts of the Algarve coming up soon; an Iceland cruise by way of Northern Europe in May; Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month); a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in the spring of 2025. The United States sometime in 2025 is likely: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Maryland, and North Carolina. I can now fly direct from Faro to Newark, thanks to a new United route. I booked a Mediterranean cruise for October 2025 — it sails from Tel Aviv, so it’s a bit uncertain. It includes parts of Turkey and Egypt I have not yet explored.

State-of-Mind

Do you ever have anxiety or tension and you have no idea why? I woke up distracted and detached on Sunday. I decided to go out on the terrace and clean up my plant beds — tearing out weeds, repotting, turning up soil; it cleared my head like nobody’s business. It was exactly what I needed to do in order to feel better.

I have a new laptop with a Portuguese keyboard, making blogging a slow and painful process. I thought if I wrote less I would be okay — didn´t happen; neither happened. Time.

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A Morning Person

Revisited with updates. Done on my tablet, so it may be wonky.

Paco taking in the morning sun on the terrace
A foggy morning

Early morning defined:  the hours between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. (lately 4:30 a.m. even early by my standards).

I have been a morning person my entire life. My mom always reminded me that I would wake the entire household when I got out of bed. I don’t get out of bed at 5:15 a.m. because I have to; I wake-up early because I choose to. I haven’t used an alarm clock for 40 years (unless I have a 6:00 a.m. flight). Here are just ten reasons I love the early morning:

  1. It may just be the quietest time of the day. Night owls have finally gone to bed.
  2. You can watch the sun come up. For me the morning represents hope, change and a boat load of energy.
  3. That first cup of coffee. I drank decaf for years; it’s never been about the caffeine.
  4. It’s when my energy level is at its highest and I’ve tested this.
  5. I feel like I own the world (sort of grandiose I know).
  6. I feel like I can do just about anything.
  7. I’m usually the first to get to wherever I’m going.
  8. By the time I get to the gym — usually empty in the morning, I am fully awake.
  9. No one calls me before Noon because of the time difference between Europe and the U.S.
  10. “The early bird catches the worm!”

Knowing When You Are Most Productive

For the most part (there are exceptions), I wake up fully energized in the morning. I have a mental ‘to do’ list and I’m eager to start checking off the boxes. I know that by a certain point during the day, my energy level will begin to wane. I discovered my peak period during my freshman year in college. I was forced to register for a couple of 8:00 a.m. classes because they were the only classes with spots left by the time the juniors and seniors registered. Not sure how it’s done these days; back then Freshman got whatever scraps were left. Did not matter much to me, the courses I liked were not the popular choices (e.g., wellness, sociology, African-American studies).

I often found myself sitting in a nearly empty classroom. Most of the students who had enrolled, could not get their asses out of bed. I would arrive early, eager to learn — haters, stop hating. My instructors were often impressed with my attentive behavior and I was usually rewarded for it. My Pavlovian inclinations and ‘aim to please’ character traits were a recipe for success. You have to become aware of your assets; mine were always charm and being upbeat. I’m not ashamed to admit any of this. It was never about superior intelligence; lucky for me common sense and ambition were appreciated (and rewarded).

Throughout my college career, I continued to take morning classes, followed by library time and mental exercise (leisure reading, etc.). Whenever I started to get sluggish, usually after lunch, I would go to the gym to recharge my battery. Fortunately, I had a part-time job that required me to work early evenings. I was reliable and dependable and I sucked up to authority. Say what you will, but my debt was minimal and for the most part, I was allowed to study at work.

The Advantages of Getting There Before Anyone Else

Markets:  Food markets usually get started early; often by 8:00 a.m. When you arrive early you get first pick of all the fresh food. Depending on how you get there, the earlier you arrive, the more parking there will be.

Government Offices:  Being one of the first to arrive at a government office has several advantages. I usually take a good book and try to get there an hour before they open. Government staff are dealing with some crazy stuff and the later you get there, the more agitated they are — not always the case, however, in my experience . . .

Doctor’s Offices:  Doctors get backed up. Sometimes appointments are scheduled every 15 minutes. If the first person takes 30 minutes, everything gets thrown-off and it only gets worse as the day goes by. I always ask for the first appointment if I can get it. Even if it means I have to delay seeing the doctor for a few days, it’s usually worth it.

Early Flights and Tourist Destinations:  Earlier flights have a better on-time record. As the day goes on delays can pile up and cause travel nightmares. If you’re going to a tourist destination, people with small children usually arrive a lot later because kids take some time to get ready in the morning. Get there early and you’ll surely have a more peaceful experience. I love kids. Did I tell you that I love kids?

The Road: Getting on the road early will save you lots of time and aggravation. I think traffic is on my top three list of things I hate most. I have always done everything I could possibly do to avoid it.

Bakery:  Baked goods right out of the oven are worth getting up early for . . . enough said.

Early Morning Sex:  You have more energy and you can see your partner in natural light. Don’t laugh; it’s true. A distant memory I’m afraid.

Write me if you think of others.

A good piece on early morning productivity (click).

You May Have to Put Your Phone On ‘Do Not Disturb’

Most of my friends and family know that I’m in bed by 9:00 p.m. — at times, much to their dismay. But because they’re human, they forget, and I occasionally get a text or telephone call that gets me out of bed. On nights when I need a solid seven hours, I put my phone on ‘do not disturb.’ There is a small part of me that feels guilty about this, however, there isn’t enough guilt to stop me from doing it. I do this every night now.

Disadvantages

When there is an upside, you can be certain that there will be a downside. The following are several issues related to being an early riser:

  1. Most of the people in my life (nearly all in fact) are not morning people. You know who you are. You like to stay up late watching television/Netflix or reading or being out on the town or passing the hours waiting to be sleepy enough to hit the sack. There was a time in my life when saying goodnight to these folks was embarrassing for me. I would sheepishly walk toward the bedroom and feel guilty for calling it a night. That’s a thing of the past; however, I do sometimes go to bed and miss a really good conversation and/or a bit of juicy gossip. The wine flows and the guard comes down and I’m already two hours into la la land.
  2. There are genuinely times when I would like to go out dancing. Most dance clubs don’t get going until way past midnight. Staying up that late is very difficult for me. I force myself to do it occasionally because I believe being a social animal is important for my relationships and potential dating life. It’s way too easy to crawl under a comfy blanket. Especially after discovering Portuguese cotton; life changing, trust me. A disco nap (you may not know the term if you’re less than 40). The night out dancing is also a distant memory.
  3. People do get annoyed with you when you say you’d like to have dinner by 7:00 p.m. The problem with retiring early, is that if you eat too late, the food just sits in your stomach and can be disruptive to sleep. Again, most of my friends put up with me. I like giving dinner parties; this way I get to decide when dinner is served.
  4. Speaking of dinner parties . . . I am so glad that I do not live in Japan. In Japan, if you host dinner guests, you cannot call it a night while said guests are enjoying your hospitality. When your guests decide to go home, then and only then, can you say goodnight. I cannot tell you how many times I have asked my guests to leave my apartment. In fact, when I host guests overnight, I almost always go to bed long before they do.
  5. When I am an overnight guest in someone’s home, I do not hesitate to ask them to grind their coffee beans and set up their coffee maker before they go to bed. Conversely, when I have guests, I grind my beans the night before so that I do not wake them at 5:00 a.m. — it’s the little things that differentiate one from other hosts; good hospitality means letting your guests sleep-in.
  6. No matter what time I go to bed, I usually wake up at the same time every morning. It’s not a good thing, but I’ve learned that there isn’t much I can do about it.
  7. It’s not good for dating.
  8. If you like award shows, you’re screwed.

You’re not a morning person, but you’d like to be? I know people who have successfully made the change. For the rest of you, stay who are and keep the morning quiet for me.

Future Travel

It’s a ways off, Basel, Switzerland in September. Big Asia trip September/October — five countries in three weeks; land and sea. South Africa February 2024 and back to Oslo next July. Travel light diet these days; not baggage, time away.

Current State of Mind

I am currently in Oban, Scotland. It’s been a truly wonderful trip (home tomorrow). Spent time with friends, enjoyed nature, saw lots of castles, ate well (when do I not eat well). It’s been a time of reflection and peace of mind. I’ve realized who my true friends are and what is important now. The essence of life is gratitude and enjoying the moment, for all that I have, I am grateful.

A friend sent me this photo recently. I don’t recall which friend or where he, she or they took it. I tried to add a photo of my current view, but alas, it won’t work, so you’ll have to settle for this. The sender will come to me at 2:00 a.m. (for sure).
Posted on by CP · 3 Comments

This Will Haunt Me Till I Die

black vehicle steering wheel
Not my car; mine looked a lot worse after my accident.

 

We’ve all done things in our youth that we regretted later in life. Some of these life events are silly and insignificant and others do irreparable damage to our psyche. Let me tell you about a mistake I made that has caused me pain and consternation throughout my adult life. As with many car accidents, the outcome of this one could have been tragic; fortunately, three lives were spared, but fear of the worst possible outcome, has tormented me for the past 40 something years.

I completed high school when I was 17 years old and started my first semester at Brooklyn College. It was a big, intimidating campus and I hated being there. My family had relocated to North Carolina for my stepfather’s business and I stayed behind. After not sleeping for months, I dropped out of Brooklyn College, packed up my very old and dilapidated Plymouth Valiant, and drove down to North Carolina to join my family. It wasn’t just that I hated Brooklyn College; I missed my family. School could wait a semester.

I knew that I would soon enroll in a college or university in North Carolina, but since I didn’t have a penny to my name, I needed a job first. Staying at my mother and stepfather’s house would not and could not be more than a temporary solution. They were both smokers and I hated my stepfather. Fortunately, back in the 80s, one could easily get a job with a high school diploma and rent was cheap in Salisbury, where my family had relocated.

Before I’d hit the south, I had never heard of cotton mills. Makes sense that after they pick cotton it has to go somewhere right? I was 18 years old, strong as an ox and willing to do just about anything to earn a buck. I was quickly hired for a third shift position at Cone Mills, a large cotton mill in Salisbury. Cone Mills made all kinds of denim at this plant. I figured I liked blue jeans and the money wasn’t bad. I was hired for the third shift, 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.; better known as the graveyard shift. Working in the middle of the night has its advantages, however, sleeping is not one of them. Your body is so confused about the time of day, you end up wide awake during the day, when you should be resting.

 

 

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Photo by Plush Design Studio on Pexels.com

 

Greg, a new friend from work, would cover for me in the early morning hours, when I needed a few minutes of shut-eye. I would steal away to one of the shipping containers for a 15 minute nap; not ideal, but certainly helped get me through the night. Greg was a true southern gentleman and he saved me from losing my job on a number of occasions. He also helped me find a low-rent trailer home which ended up being the lowest point of my life. It was during this time that I met my neighbor Brenda who was diabetic and required a lot of attention. She had an eight-year old named Gene who needed a father figure and I was conveniently only steps away and and young enough to kick a ball around on demand. Gene would pester me to come out and play day or night. My having had few friends and a good deal of pent-up energy, made it difficult to say no to Gene. On one particular occasion, I wished I had refused him.

Mid-day and a knock at the door. I had just settled into dream sleep. It was about 98 degrees and very sticky; typical July North Carolina weather; the kind of weather I despise. The trailer was an oven and Gene decided it was time for me to wake up. I hear the knock and throw the pillow over my head, knowing full well that I would never get back I sleep. I grabbed some shorts and a T-shirt, got dressed, and walked out of the trailer. Gene was jumping up and down, always excited about something or other, and I was groggy and semi-conscious. I told him that I would only get out of bed if we mowed the lawn together — I had a 6′ x 8′ patch of crabgrass outside my trailer door. Gene agreed, ran to retrieve his mother’s lawn mower and proceeded to tug on the cord to get it started. I watched him for a bit thinking this was a great way for him to release some of that crazy little boy energy.

After a few minutes of Gene’s panting and scowling, I offered to give it a try. It only took 30 seconds for me to realize the mower was out of gas. I said, we’ve gotta get gas Gene. The gas station was a quarter mile up the road and Gene got super excited about a ride in my new Mustang. He shouted to his mother:

“Be right back Momma, goin’ with Chris for gas.”

Brenda yelled back, “Okay boys, grab me a Cheerwine.”

The owner of the trailer park had a gas can in the community shed, but we couldn’t find the cover to the can. I figured we were so close to the gas station we could fill it halfway and avoid spilling gas. I probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. This third-shift business was not good for my sanity. I don’t even think I brushed my teeth that afternoon and that alone proved I was out of sorts.

Between the weather and being sleep deprived, I was making terrible decisions. Gene held the empty gas can in the passenger seat while I drove. I was still pretty excited about my new, gently used, black Mustang. It looked pretty good; however, a four cylinder engine and very little horse power, was nothing to brag about. It took less than three minutes from home to pull into the service station — I wish we had walked. Gene predictably wanted to pump the gas; I went inside to pay for two dollars worth and grab a soda for Brenda. If my memory serves me correctly, the can was about half full.  I told Gene to put the gas can between his feet on the floor of the car and hold it while I drove us home. I approached the exit onto what was a fairly major road; in fact, it was called highway 70 even though it wasn’t officially a highway. The speed limit was 55 miles per hour, but I don’t think anyone drove under 65 on highway 70. The service station had recently added flags along front of the station to draw attention from the road.

I had to make a quick left turn onto the highway, so I approached the road looking to the left first. I recall having a difficult time seeing past the flags. I crept onto the highway a bit further so that I could get a better look. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tractor trailer plowed into the front left (driver’s) side of my car. The car flipped over at least twice. This was prior to seat belt laws, but fortunately, Gene and I had both buckled-up. It was pre-air bags, unfortunately. I must have blacked out because my last memory was seeing the truck and then I woke up in the ambulance to my mother’s voice.

She kept repeating, “Chris, Chris, it’s mom.”

I looked around in a panic and said, “Where’s Gene?”

My mom had passed the accident and pulled over to see if she could help, discovering it was me who had had the wreck. She told me that Gene was in another ambulance and that he was okay. Mom also told me that the truck driver was not injured. I wondered if she was lying to me. I did not get to see the car at the scene, but I’m certain that if I had, I would have thought that Gene was killed. My mom rode with me in the ambulance and when I got to the hospital, they rushed me to the operating room. My clothing was cut off of me with a scissor and I was poked, prodded and x-rayed. Later I was told that my face was pretty torn up from the windshield and I had banged up my left arm and leg. At some point they brought Gene into the room where I was being treated. He had a big smile on his face and ran to my side. Brenda was with him and she too was smiling. Gene was boasting that he had broken his collarbone and had to wear a sling for awhile. Brenda kissed my check and told me that she was happy that I was okay. Seeing Gene made me weep uncontrollably. It was such a relief to see Gene was alive and walking.

Later that week my mother drove me to the car salvage lot to see my car. It was unrecognizable. Again, I wept privately. How did Gene make it out alive?  I cannot erase the memory of that truck nano seconds before impact. I play it over and over in my head to this day. Where did that truck come from? How did I not see it? Was I unfit to drive that day? Gas spilled everywhere in that car and it didn’t explode; how was that possible? So many questions that will forever remain unanswered.

I remained on third shift at the Mill after the accident. Gene and I had a serious conversation about allowing me to sleep during the day; the accident matured us both a bit. I developed a newfound respect for cars and how dangerous they can be. Kids always go in the back seat now and I don’t drive unless I’m fully alert. If Gene had been killed or seriously hurt in that accident, my life would not have been the same. I have always had a hard time shaking this thought. I’m forever grateful to the gods that Gene was only minimally hurt and I’m fairly certain that that car accident was my wake up call. The scars on my face are a constant reminder of how precarious life can be and how fortunate I am.

 

On a break for the next few weeks. I’ll be taking my first trip to Wales on Saturday and reporting back what I experienced. See you soon.