MLK Day, 1988

I didn't realize until this morning that today was the official Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. Bill mentioned in his daily email that they were paid overtime today.

The only prior MLK day I can remember with significance was in 1988. It probably had nothing to do with Dr. King, but the "festivities" actually lasted the whole week. Bill had just left that weekend on his last 3-month training cruise before graduation, I was home in Vallejo taking care of Juli (4), and Alex (19 mos), and working nights as a waitress.

On my way to the store that Monday, I discovered that my car's brakes weren't working well at all, mushy and squealing, and not stopping fast enough! I spent the morning creeping cautiously to various repair shops, only to find that they had all closed in honor of the holiday. Rats. I carefully drove back home, cursing the fates and wondering why I didn't realize it was MLK day.

Tuesday, I carefully drove to a brake shop, where they told me that my front calipers had "fallen off," I entertained the kids while they fixed the problem, then drove home feeling smug that I had taken care of car business without too much inconvenience or expense. About 2 blocks from the house though, I had to pull over because of a flat rear tire! Leaving children in car seats, I wrestled with the spare, and sweating and swearing, changed the tire. I drove back to the shop and spent the rest of the afternoon keeping kids occupied and waiting for the flat to be fixed. There now I thought, nothing else will go wrong, it's not really Martin Luther King's fault, it's just happening because Bill left, and now things will settle down again.

On Wednesday, the lawn mower quit. I suspected a fouled spark plug, and when I went to the garage to get a wrench to pull it and clean it, I discovered Bill had taken all the tools with him. I left the dead lawn mower where it stood, and huffed into the house. What else could go wrong this week?

On Thursday, the toaster oven caught fire. I put it out with the Halon extinguisher, and threw the offending appliance in the garbage when it cooled. Certainly the Curse of Bill's Departure was lifted now?

On Friday afternoon, I was running late on picking up Juli at school. I scooped up Alex and ran out to buckle him into his car seat. I ran back into the house to grab my keys and a bag of toys I needed to deliver, and made a mad dash out the door. I tripped on the welcome mat, slammed against the side of the stucco-finished entryway and fell on the shallow step, breaking my left ankle and cracking my head on the concrete. Fighting to stay conscious (yes, you really do see stars when you hit your head, I remember thinking), I lay on the step pondering my options. I think I yelled "help" a couple of times.

Is there anything quieter than a suburban California neighborhood at 1 pm? Everyone was at work, the meter-reader I had seen canvassing the area earlier was gone, no one was coming. I had a baby in his car seat, getting hot and fussy. I hauled myself up on my hands and knees, crawled that way out to the driveway, heaved myself into the car and drove to the hospital. (Thank heavens for automatic transmission, I didn't have to use my left foot on a clutch).

They put me in a wheelchair and plopped Alex on my lap as they rolled me in, a nurse called the school and asked them to keep Juli a bit longer (Resa, the Montessori school's director, brought her to me in the ER, about an hour later), and Dr. Goldberg (yep, same guy), tucked Alex on his hip while they did X-rays of my ankle and then handed him back so he could put me in a soft cast and dress the scrapes from my violent contact with the stucco. Someone drove me, my children and my car home.

The next 8 weeks were kind of a blur, but I do remember occasionally tethering one kid to each crutch for neighborhood walks, whizzing about in motorized shopping carts at the supermarket with both kids in the basket, and my brother coming up from Stanford on weekends to cook, clean and help. He also bought me a new toaster oven and revived the lawn mower. Bill's parents came out for a week and took care of the kids when I flew to Mazatlan to meet Bill's ship to spend his shore leave with him there in March.

It's now twenty years later and MLK day again. Not to be too superstitious, I think I'll just stay home and be careful for the rest of the week, if you all don't mind.