It took me 4 hours and 15 minutes to get home last night.
I got stuck in the snow twice but an angel pushed my car onwards. The angel was a builder. The type of builder that my husband was (is) ... always helping people.
I skidded a few times too. At the time I thought, "ok, what did Owen and Gerard tell me to do ... ah yes, steer the direction you are going," which I did. The sidewalk stopped me. I still haven't checked my car for damage. NOT YET.
I cried a few times too. It was so frightening ... Cliff always drove me when it snowed. And I'm not saying I was tired, but the windscreen wipers seemed to be moving in some kind of Hawaiian dancing girl / trance motion. On the motorway, the car slipped a couple of times, so I stayed in the middle lane and drove at 40 mph (YES I DID, JENNIFER!) which proved to me that my self-preservation has kicked in. Only two months ago, I would have driven in the fast lane and couldn't have cared less if I'd died.
One of the medics at work asked me what car I had yesterday. I told him and he replied, "hmmm, BMWs have a rear wheel drive so you shouldn't really drive them in the snow," and I said, "really?" I mean, I am clueless, CLUELESS! I didn't even know that my car had a rear wheel drive. Jesus wept. I feel like a child. I used to love being childlike, being with Cliff. But these days, I feel childish which is an entirely different state of being.
Clearly, I got home safely. And even though I cried when I walked through the front door, I also felt pride when I said, "I did it Baba, I made it through the snoo-snoo."