Today they held the parade for the 2007 World's Biggest Fish Fry in my hometown of Paris, TN. It's a significant "floating" date for me, because on Fish Fry Friday eighteen years ago, I was in an accident while on the way to take Stephen to ride on a float in the parade. I had stayed up until past 1:00am putting the finishing touches on his sailor outfit that I had made, and maybe lack of sleep clouded my judgement just a bit. We were late. Anyone who knows me knows that's one of my trademarks. I'm always late - time management escapes me, which is why I'd been up late working on the suit. It was a beautiful, clear, April morning, and we were just about halfway between Greenfield and McKenzie, going through a wide spot in the road known as Pillowville. A truck had pulled out in front of me, going about 30 in a 55. Ahead was a passing zone, and nothing was coming. So I did what people do when they're running late and don't want to do 30 all the way to McKenzie - I signaled and swung out to pass. The only turn off was to my right, so I didn't really hesitate. I hadn't quite gotten the front end of my station wagon even with his back bumper when he tapped his brakes to slow down.

From here on, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I kept passing, but just as I pulled even with him, I could see him turning the steering wheel of the truck, turning it in my direction. Apparently he was turning into what we refer to as a "field road" that I hadn't been aware of, and we were between him and his destination. The impact was brutal. The front tire was ripped from the car and went sailing to the left into the cornfield. The car followed, with me hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life, since I couldn't actually control the car. Because it was a cornfield, the road sloped downward to it, and I could feel the right side rising higher and higher, until I was pretty sure it was going to roll over. That's when I caught the phone pole just behind my door. It countered the rollover, and we continued on until the front end plowed into the ground, breaking the cars frame, knocking the motor off the mounting blocks, and shattering the windshield. As the glass dust and the dirt from the field settled around us, I cut the motor off, removed the key from the ignition, unhooked the seatbelt, and opened my door. The screaming from Miranda and Stephen reassured me that they would be fine, especially since both had been strapped in. I got out, looking for the other guy, because I had no idea where he and his truck had gone. Turns out he ended up on the other side of the road, but was relatively okay.

We, on the other hand, were only so-so. Stephen had a gash at his temple from the handle on the little vent in the side window and bruises from the seatbelt he had JUST put back on after I looked in the rear view and caught him leaning over the back seat; Miranda was just bruised and traumatized. I had a bruised sternum, bruises on my hip bones, and my neck would never quite be the same. The car, needless to say, was a total loss. We still have pictures of what it looked like after they towed it to the junkyard. It's amazing that we were all okay. Funny how I remember it so clearly. Funny how much time has passed.