Wishing a happy, healthy 2025 to you all. Most folks I know are either stressing over their upcoming credit card bills (‘tis the season), trying to decide which resolutions are ‘really’ achievable, or navigating roads and airports after their holiday travels.
That brings me to weather. Clever segue, huh? I am British after-all and we tend to have a weather obsession! Mine, however, is not only a British thing. It’s an age-thing, a scary Michigan roads-thing, and a phobia-thing brought on by past experience.
Once winter weather sets-in, as it has here in southwest Michigan, I am glued to my weather app and various meteorological reports. Why? Simply, it is an almost four-hour drive to Ontario to visit my mother in her long-term care home. That drive, on the previously mentioned scary roads, stresses me out more than credit cards or broken resolutions.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love to drive – on dry roads with, hopefully, minimal truck traffic. Even rain isn’t a deal-breaker.
Years ago, I drove from my home in southwest Michigan to New Brunswick, Canada, to visit my parents, many times. That drive, between 20 to 23 hours, depending on the route, was often broken up by a spontaneous overnight stay in a quaint town off Interstate 95. But, on a few occasions, I drove it straight through – admittedly very tired and barely able to move when I arrived. One such trip, coming home from a Christmas in New Brunswick, I plowed-on relentlessly despite snow squalls which began mid-way through New York State. They stayed with me all the way to Michigan. I was younger and more foolish then.
On another trip, a snowstorm which paralyzed much of northeast USA, found me and several other crazy drivers struggling through almost a foot of snow as the New Hampshire State Police routed us off the highway to a nearby town. Fortunately, a local hotel was able to provide rooms for everyone. They had also set up an impromptu free wine-bar in the lobby for the weary travelers. Now that’s my idea of being stranded in a snowstorm!
So, what caused my aversion to winter driving?
During the Covid-19 pandemic, I drove back and forth from Michigan to Ontario on a regular basis to stay with my mother as she slipped further into the Dementia Zone. Lake-effect snow off Lake Michigan routinely caused road closures and icy conditions so I purchased a new Toyota RAV which – foreshadowing here – I hoped would provide a safer vehicle for those arduous trips.
The following excerpt, from my unpublished book, Just Call Me Irene: A Memoir, explains why one harrowing trip was a game-changer. And it explains the “phobia brought on by past experience” I mentioned earlier…
2020
I drove home on Christmas afternoon 2020 after spending the morning with mom. She opened her gifts and I watched her squirrel them away in drawers or cupboards as per her usual custom. Leaving things lying under the tree, she insisted, was “messy.” The behavior was not new. She had never allowed us to leave gifts under the tree as many families did. Ours were taken away to our rooms as soon as the opening was complete. Gift-wrap and ribbons were disposed of. There was no “saving” paper for future use. Recycle was not a word in our vocabulary when I was a child.
This year my brother had agreed that mom would go to his apartment for Christmas afternoon and Christmas dinner. He was not responding well to mom’s dementia, but I hoped he was beginning to realize the condition was permanent. Spending time with her required patience, understanding, and, as I discovered with mom, a sense of humor.
The weather was below freezing with icy sleet and light snow coming in waves. The highway, though, was mainly clear as I drove across the Bluewater Bridge and merged onto Interstate 69 in Michigan. As I changed lanes, invisible black ice must have grabbed my car’s wheels. In seconds, we executed an almost perfect donut before sliding down a 10-foot incline into a deep ditch, in the tall reeds, between the east and westbound lanes.
I tried to recall correct etiquette for spin-outs – foot off gas, don’t try to over-correct the skid. I’m sure I did just the opposite. All the sensible rules are out the window when you’re watching the roadway and oncoming ditch spin around you. The only thing missing was the Wicked-Witch riding her bicycle and the soundtrack from that scene in the Wizard of Oz to complete the picture. And perhaps a few flying monkeys?
I swore like an enlisted sailor. Having previously been married to one, I can attest to the authenticity of the language.
The car and I hurtled down one side of the culvert and halfway up the other side. Once stopped, realizing I was in one piece and we hadn’t hit anything solid, I sat for a minute reflecting – and trying to find the phone number for roadside assistance. Another motorist stopped above me on the side of the highway to see if I was okay. He said he would call 911 for me. After assuring him I was fine, and thanking him for stopping, I patted the dashboard and mumbled, “Good Annie, good girl.” Then, putting her into reverse, I attempted to extricate us from the snowy, muddy mess. (Did I really think that was possible?)
I had never named a car in my life. Realizing what I had said, out loud, “Good Annie, good girl,” it dawned on me that an angel must have been watching over me. Annie. My maternal grandmother. Why else would her name come to mind right at that moment? The car and I had not collided with another vehicle, had not hit the cement and steel culvert only a few yards ahead, and despite being covered in snowy muck and reeds, we were unscathed. I don’t profess to be a religious person, but Angel Annie was with me that morning.
I actually feel guilty about referring to my grandma as a stern, humorless woman in a previous chapter, but that is my honest recollection. Sorry, Grandma!
An hour later, Annie and I were towed back up the steep incline with, amazingly, no damage discernable. The youthful Michigan State Trooper who arrived on the scene was concerned but also incredulous that I had tried to drive out of the ditch. (I explained to him I’d inherited the stubborn gene.) Although working on Christmas day, he exuded kindness and humor. He followed me for a few miles as I got back on the road – hopefully to make sure my car was road-safe. Not to watch for more off-road excursions!
I drove the remainder of the 200 miles home in contemplative silence. Thinking back on the experience, it was a real Christmas miracle that Annie and I are still here. Thank you, Grandma.
After writing about that experience, I became much more aware of road conditions and weather fronts coming in. Now, every time I merge onto Interstate 69 and pass the spot where Annie and I careened into the ditch, my senses are on high alert. I hold my breath until we are further up the road.
Mom’s 98th birthday is this month – January 18th. Once again, I’m watching long range weather forecasts, plotting my strategy to get to Ontario. Annie has had her tires rotated and is newly oiled and lubed. She is ready to roll. As in previous years, I will take a cake for the residents to share as they sing Happy Birthday, Irene! There’s nothing better than a party with cake – and ice-cream!
When I spoke with mom on the phone the other day, she was delighted to know her birthday was coming soon. “After all,” she said, “you don’t turn 85 every day.” I assured her you don’t but reminded her she would be 98 this year. “Oh my, that’s old,” she responded with a laugh.
Till next month – stay safe out there. Thanks for subscribing to my musings. Any and all comments and suggestions for posts are appreciated.
I know what you mean about being more cautious these days than when we were younger and less inclined to think that anything bad could ever happen to us. In the mid-seventies, I drove home from my parents' home in Detroit during a raging snowstorm with a five year old and a dog in tow. As I left my parents' place, I casually said, "Don't worry, if it gets too bad I'll just get off the highway and stay in a hotel." Well, the storm was so bad that all the exits were closed! If you were on the highway, you stayed on the highway! What was normally a three hour drive became more like a six or eight hour drive. I was listening to The Grapes of Wrath on my CD player at the time and nearly finished it on that very long, arduous drive home. I've never been quite so flippant about driving conditions since then!
Be careful throwing around the age. My great Aunt turned 100. The family threw her a party and she said the same thing when someone told her she was 100. She didn’t last long after. I always thought it was the shock of being 100. Of course, it could have just been the fact that she was.