Lane change

I swung my car around a blind curve and caught sight of a new sign beside my road--One lane road ahead--but I barely had time to register the meaning before I came face-to-face with a pair of stout poles blocking my lane.

Good thing I don't take that curve at speed! Anyone swinging around there above about 20 mph is in for a rude awakening, doubly so if a car is coming the other way. Or a truck. Lots of trucks on my country road. 

There's no doubt that the road needs repair; we've seen slippage for years, but now that whole lane seems to be on the verge of sliding down into the creek. One of these days I'll come around the curve to find heavy equipment and construction workers shoring up the bank. A flagger might be a good idea, or at least a little advanced warning.

This spring we've seen more than our usual share of sudden shocks along the road, so it feels good to turn a corner and enter the reconstruction phase. My son's tumor keeps shrinking and he's even had a chance to drive his own car, which sat idle for the three weeks he was in the hospital. More chemo Friday, but so far he has tolerated the poisons pretty well. I had to pivot to Zoom teaching with help from colleagues, but this week I've gone back to face-to-face teaching without a hitch except for the occasional odd feeling that I don't belong in the classroom. I've settled in back home, reclaimed my kitchen and cooking chores, and tackled piles of claptrap to get caught up on administrative tasks.

It's shocking how much simpler life can be when I'm in my usual place. Yesterday I arrived at campus and marveled over how easy it is to get to my office: park, lock, walk. Arriving at the hospital to see my son was a complex multi-stage process every stinking day: Drive into parking garage; stop to take ticket; wind around level after level to find an open space: walk to the pedestrian bridge; walk through the scanner at the security checkpoint; walk through again because something in my purse always makes the scanner beep; walk to the welcome desk; hand over the parking ticket for validation (so I can get out for $3 a day); hand over my driver's license; tell them my son's name and room number; spell his name at least twice before they can find it in the system; get my photo taken; slap the visitor's sticker on my shirt; put away my license and parking permit--and only then am I ready to get in the elevator and go upstairs.

Well, goodbye to all that--maybe not forever, but for now. Today if the weather holds up I may even make it to a college baseball game, my first in over a month. I've had my share of sudden stops and I'm ready for some easy driving.