Cause You Had A Bad Day, You're Taking One Down, You Sing a Sad Song Just To Turn It Around

Thanks to social media, I'm able to remember all of the happy moments I've shared to prove to mostly total strangers how wonderful my life is.  Today, I had what started out to be one of those days, a day that I was happy to share worldwide...followed with another of those events that I blog about.  And for some reason, Social Media reminded me that today, July 29th, has historically not been a date that I want to remember.


On this date, 31 years ago, which was way before the internet, I went to my OB/GYN for a non-stress test.  I was nine days past my due date with my second child, and the doctor was debating whether to induce or not.  The test showed that I was finally in early labor, so I dragged my toddler around while I did a bunch of last minute chores.  I put him in the car with my purse, while a saleswoman loaded my trunk, only to hear the "THUNK" of the automatic locks.  Yes, he locked the car in 90+ degree heat with the windows up.  The police were called but the cop refused to use the lockout tool.  He said people sued if their locks wouldn't work.  Screaming at him didn't work, so I asked for a rock or hammer to break the window myself.  With that, I had my first bad contraction and grabbed my huge belly, which scared EVERYONE.  The cop broke the lock (which he was right-never worked again), I drove home...and the contractions stopped...until much later that night. More about this later.

Six years ago, we planned this date for Wingman's wake. What I didn't think about, was that the last Sunday of July was traditionally the biggest horse race of the season at the race track near my house. With a crowd of over 60,000 people trying to get to the same exit, plus the beach-goers traveling a few miles past that, we were swimming against the tide, and actually showed up for Wingman's wake...late.

Four years ago, I wrote a blog about how well I was handling being a widow.  I was really smug about being able to "do it all" until I came home (social media didn't tell me from where) to an air conditioner leak in the attic.  Water seeped through the ceiling and the sheet rock collapsed.  Not only that, the handle "thingy" on a toilet broke (I could do it but didn't know what to call it). It took an HVAC company, a plumber and a painter to get me out of that mess.

Last year on this date, a friend and I went to NY for a full weekend of concerts.  My thought was not to dwell on Wingman's death, but to celebrate his love of music. A woman we both knew offered her studio apartment to stay at rather than get a hotel.  I went to flush the toilet (again a toilet problem) and water started gushing out of the floor under it.  We spent the morning mopping up the floor with every sheet and towel she owned, and the owner had to have a broken pipe between the floors replaced.

Which leads me to this morning.  While Wingman was afraid of heights, anything to do with soaring or flying excites me.  Three years ago, I bought tickets to go to a balloon festival, only to be shut out because of torrential rain and flooding.  They had a no refund policy, so it was money wasted, which always annoys me.  I bought a ticket to the same festival yesterday, and drove to the site 50 miles only to be shut out because there was no available parking. Again, very annoying. Not wanting to waste another ticket, I got up at 4:15 this morning for the 6:30 lift off.  As I pulled into the parking lot, a new light I've never seen came on-something about my coolant system and the car overheated. Long story short I saw the balloons lift off, but the car had to be towed back home.  My brother's best guess right now is that the water pump broke and the head gasket cracked.  That $35 had-to-go-so-as-not-to-waste-the-money ticket, may mean I'm going to have to buy  a new car.

 So next year on July 29th, wherever I'm living, I'm wrapping myself in bubble wrap, hiding all the sharp knives, and  staying put.  I won't even buy a lottery ticket, which will probably be the night that my regular set of numbers will hit.  Coincidence that bad stuff  happens on this date?  I think not.  I think it goes back to 31 years ago when I called Wingman in a panic and insisted he rush home BECAUSE I WAS HAVING A BABY AT ANY MINUTE.  By the time he arrived, I was calmly eating ice cream and wasn't in labor anymore. He wasn't happy and his stern admonishment "You'd better watch out.  Some day I might not come when you really need me" still rings in my ears. So I think this is just his not so subtle way of reminding me about that time.  Today, like a few other July 29ths, and like the song says, we all need somebody to lean on.

                                               Lean on me, when you're not strong
                                               And I'll be your friend
                                               I'll help you carry on
                                               For it won't be long
'                                              Til I'm gonna need
                                               Somebody to lean on

And just in case...Bye Bye baby.  You were good to me for the last four years...