They say most traffic accidents take place near home or work. That’s because we drive those roads more often than any others. We spend more time on them. They become familiar.
I drive the roads near my home every day. I no longer notice the small imperfections. I know where the potholes are, when to go slow, when to avoid the lane.
It is like that at home. There is a door knob that is difficult to turn to the left; I turn it to the right. I don’t even notice.
This summer the city has decided to repair and replace uneven curbings and broken sidewalks in preparation for resurfacing the streets in my neighborhood. The signs went up warning us and the letters explaining the schedule arrived, but I paid little heed to what was actually happening.
Then one day a large Gradall came and tore out the curbing in front of our driveway. We could no longer park in our garage. We had to park on the street. We have lived in places with limited off-street parking and in others with detached garages, but the luxury of an attached garage has become familiar, a part of everyday life. I miss the garage.
The streets will be better than before; still I will miss the pothole at the end of the block. Even filled in, it was part of the neighborhood drive.
I will fix that door knob. Life goes on.
Grace and Peace.