Wednesday, Feb. 20, 2008
Dear Diary:

A tragedy for one family led to life for another.

Because someone signed their donor card, and a grieving family respected their wishes, Robert got his transplant. He'll begin rehabilitation in about a week and a half.

Have I mentioned lately how many extraordinary people have been brought into my life by the internets? Well, one of them is Rebekah Sue who actually went through the preliminary screening to be a live donor for Robert.

Let me say that again.

A woman read about a foreign stranger's desperate situation and actually offered to give a hunk of her body to this stranger. Offer as in filing all the paperwork and going through preliminary screening. Unfortunately, she was refused on health grounds, but there's no doubt in my mind she would have gone through with it.

Holey moley.

As if that wasn't enough, Detail Medic offered, too. Like Rebekah Sue, she's an American willing to cross into another country to help a stranger.

Random, senseless, drive-by acts of amazing kindness. Stunning, really.

Oh, and speaking of stunning � or more accurately, stunned did I mention that a few days ago I managed to lock myself out of my running car? My running car that was part ways into the driveway for the garage, and part ways into the road? In the middle of a snow storm? With the possibility of a snow plow barrelling down said road any moment?

Oh yes, I did.

It was a very wet storm and snow had built up heavily in the wheel wells of my car. Before I put it in the garage, I decided to knock the snow out. I do that to keep snow mountains from building up behind my car tires, snow mountains that make it very hard to back out of the garages as the winter goes on.

So I got out of my car, got my trusty snow scraper, slammed the door shut and cleaned all the snow out of my wheel wells. Went to open the door so I could drive my car into the garage, and the door wouldn't open. Somehow, when I got out, I managed to push the lock down.

So there was my car, running, stuck part ways out into the road during a major snow storm. A major, visibility killing snow storm. Inside said car was my purse. And my house keys, which live on the same ring as my car key. Even if I had a cell phone, it wouldn't have made any difference, because we don't have cell reception in this valley.


We've always kept a spare house key hidden in our woodshed for emergencies just like this. Only, uh, we recently tore down that woodshed. The Spousal Unit had mentioned in passing where he intended to hide the key in the future, but had he hidden the key there?

It's a quarter mile walk uphill to our house. I was already hyperventilating from the stress of having to leave my car. If I was with the car, I had a fighting chance to wave off a barrelling snow plow. If I wasn't, would they see the poor, wee Marnmobile in time? If there wasn't a house key, well, I'd have to break a window.

The Spousal Unit was working at a house with an unlisted phone number. He'd left it for me in our house, but I had to get into the house to call him to come with the spare key for my car. He keeps it because he sometimes uses the Marnmobile.

Stress? STRESS? The word stress doesn't begin to tell you how wired out I was. I'm lucky I didn't fall over from a stroke between the way I sprinted up to the house and the way I managed to wind myself up emotionally over the situation.

Fortunately, the spousal unit had hidden the house key. I phoned him, and fully expected him to mock the living daylights out of me for my stupidity. The stupidity that meant he'd have to travel half an hour in a big snowstorm to undue his moron wife's latest escapade.


No mockage.

Just a quick promise to get here pronto.

I raced back down to the road to protect the Marnmobile. About ten minutes after I got to it, the snow plow lumbered down the road. The driver actually stopped because he thought I was stuck in the snow. He offered to push the car into the garage. He was kind enough not to laugh at me when I explained my predicament and that my spousal unit would arrive shortly with the spare key.

Which he did.

After we got the Marnmobile safely stowed in its garage, I couldn't help but ask why I hadn't gotten the merciless teasing I deserved. The spousal unit told me my tone of voice had him convinced that I was badly hurt and he was going to have to race me to the hospital. When he realized it was just a car rescue, relief overwhelmed everything else.

I've really, really got to be more careful. I'm getting too old to be this stupid. Some day, some day, Darwinism is going to kick in, eh?


Mileage on the Marnometer: 80.11 miles.

Going Nowhere Collaboration

Goal for 2008: 500 miles

.:Comments (6 so far):.

Old Drivel - New Drivel

Subscribe with Bloglines

Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -

.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (6 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime

A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!

< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>

This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.