For those people who really know me, it is difficult to picture me driving a van. With people in it. They will recount cautionary stories of yore, when I sent mailboxes spinning into the street or backed out of the garage with the door open – nearly bringing down the house as I decimated a supporting wall. They will spin yarns about the auto-repair kit I kept hidden (a hammer, a black felt pen and nail polish remover) and the fact I employed my small children to help me bump out the daily dents and scrapes I put in the Land Rover, before my husband got home.
They will tell you I pulled off the entire front panel of a gas station tank when I forgot the spigot was still in my car – folks running with hazardous waste kits and face masks. Of the myriad of near misses with the police for easing through stop signs, forgetting to register my car or driving “erratically” while attempting to get my kids to the bus on time. Even Kim, who loves me unconditionally, says, “You are a terrible driver.”
So it is with great pride I tell you I have been trained, vetted and approved to drive the Sanford House van and I have already made one journey without incident. It is just another one of the things giving up drinking has changed for the better in my life.
Isn’t sobriety a gas (to use a corny but impossible to resist pun)?