What Did That Mail Box Ever Do To You?

What’s on your rearview mirror?
Not what’s IN your rearview mirror, what’s ON your rearview mirror?

Recently I had a car accident. I was at fault, I fell asleep at the wheel and hit a brick mailbox and it’s decorative counterpart across the driveway. Today, I talked to the owners of the home, a sweet lil’ ol’ Southern Grandparental unit, whose mailbox I had so mercilessly taken out. Of course, you hit a brick mail box, its pretty fweaking merciless, too. It tried to stand its ground, but it could have taken me with it.

It is one of those miracle type things, At least to me. Anyway, going thru the wreckage of my rear view mirror schwag I made a few discoveries about this talisman I have added to and crafted over the years, what does it say about me?

Orange rock star and leopard print dice that have swung in every car since 2003. I bought them in a gift shop somewhere. Attached green ribbon, with a sticky cross sticker to honor a co-worker who died, ironically, as the result of a car accident.

Faded Mardi Gras beads, not caught by hand, but bought in the Wal-Mart of the town we took in Mardi Gras in 2008.

An Auto Zone guardian Angel Charm with a blue stone on the hem of its ethereal robe, attached, the charm bracelet from Nashville, a souvenir from Mel from her first field trip away from Mom. A cross bracelet, tiny little thing, made in Awana by me one summer Mel and I took VBS together.

An air freshener, long lost of fragrance, Says “Sit Down, Hold On, and Shut Up” that pretty much sums up my entire life, given me by Chris, cos she reads me like a book. A Louisiana tack pen from the 2005 trip Mel and I made to Lake Charles, and one from the Route 66 Museum in Elk City OK from the 2006 Grand Canyon Adventure. Blue crescent moon from the Pink Palace.

You may be thinking, no wonder you had a wreck with such a cluster swinging from your rear view, but those who have mirror schwag understand.

So many memories, so much symbolism.

Mardi Gras and Louisiana are a part of me like a second skin. I love the color blue and crescent moons.

The cross, faded. Thiny shred of leather holding it all together, raggedy. Each color bead stood for something, I don’t remember what. I did have a guardian angel with me. She was packaged and bought specifically for that purpose. Both of those go in my future new car.

The dice are faded and their string eaten away by sun, time and one last wild ride into history. The ribbon is there to remind me how the story could have ended. Both of these retire to memorabilia heaven.

Mardi Gras beads, retired. There will be other Mardi Gras (thank you, Jesus) and we must start out small. The Nashville bracelet and air freshener, reluctantly, they go, I want to preserve the condition. The crescent moon comes with. It’s my personal symbol. I don’t know why, just because, Man in the moon, blue, it stays. Spiritual and Druidic, that’s me.

To say I survived this is an understatement. To me, it’s one of those times that define or confirm your personal spiritual view. To readers of this opus who are Christians, it’s a miracle. To “walk” away from this kind of accidentally has to be Divine intervention. But what to those who cannot perceive of the “God” concept? Is it my Irish good luck that always seems to save my ass? It’s heady, Folks, and a little scary. I was spared by God, I believe it, I know it. For whatever reason, I’m here, and I’m humbled.

I haven’t blogged in a year. So many things have happened in that year. I lost my job, I had “suspicious lump” surgery, I took a trip to Louisiana, just me an’ muh dawg. Back to the job, location, not position, new challenges, car wreck. 51 years old. Still ain’t got my shit together. As long as your shit’s not together, you still have a chance to get it together. That’s hopeful, right? I think so, I HOPE so.

What’s IN my rear view mirror? The one in my mind. The one that goes wild with symbolism and portent when I sleep. Crazy dreams, hidden messages. I’ve always have those sorts of dreams. It’s dreamlike when my mind plays over the sound bites of spinning in a vortex of windshield glass, like Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ before the movie goes color. The shear, “how am I alive”
thoughts I get 1000 times a day now. “Why”? Why am I alive?

Something to look forward to. Something to dread. Something to think about. Something to obsess over. Like I wasn't crazy enough.....LOL

RIP Harriet Hugman Riley

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