David was on the way to his Sunday meeting this morning and had an accident. While pulling onto a two-lane road with a 25 mph speed limit a block from our house, motorcycle gal crashed into the side of his car. The police charged David with failure to yield the right-of-way, because she was sailing along on the main thoroughfare, as he pulled into traffic.
The woman doesn’t live in our neighborhood, but west of us in the posh part of town, so she will probably have a fancy lawyer. The motor/scooter/bike was new before it skidded across the pavement. The obviously inexperienced and speeding driver, apparently out for a joyride on this lovely spring Sunday appeared to have superficial skin lacerations after landing on the pavement. As a precaution, medics carted her to the local hospital for further examination. David told the cop he was perfectly fine, and the cop noted it on the paperwork. Kathy who lives two houses from the intersection was soon on the scene, told him he needed to get checked out. He became angry and said “leave me alone.”
David called me when the accident occurred, so I was there before the rescue squad carried the woman away. I asked a cop if David would lose his license, and he said, “the judge would decide.” David’s almost 86, and lately many governments are taking driving licenses away from older drivers.
Later, Kathy arrived carrying several bunches of White Chrysanthemums, “to cheer you up” still insisting David get checked out. Janet had given Kathy the mums, she acquired from a wedding she attended yesterday. Half dead, the mums made the house smell like a funeral parlor and went on the compost pile after Kathy left. Although I have minimums in my garden (flower-heads about the size of a dime), I don’t like cut flowers. David learned this about ten years after we married. He brought cut flowers home every week, and always arranged to have a bouquet delivered to my hotel room, even when I traveled overseas. But I dislike anything other than a handful of wild flowers in a rustic vase. When they are dying hot-house flowers really stink…especially mums. The only exception, I found was Amsterdam, where the bouquet in my room was about two feet across, and primarily composed of Freesia and Iris. It lasted an entire week.
Above: An anniversary bouquet greeting me as I arrive home from work.