My husband and I had an amazing anniversary trip to England, Ireland, and Scotland. I was looking forward to posting pictures and blogging about the experience. Then life, as it so often does, threw a wrench in the works. A huge, weird, completely bizarre, "How does this happen?" kind of wrench.
We were sitting in the Dublin airport, awaiting our flight home, when the hubby checked his voice messages and discovered that a man had collapsed while driving down our street and ended up in our living room.
In his car.
This is our house in Peoria, the one that's been for sale since August and is thankfully, mercifully empty. I can't imagine what might have happened if we'd still been living there. Or if someone else had bought it and was living there.
The driver is fine. The house not so much. 45 miles per hour + brick wall = big hole. I think the house is cursed, it's been through so much in such a short time.
I haven't seen the damage yet. It's probably just as well. We're meeting the insurance guy there on Friday and I'm sure I'll shed some tears. It's such a beautiful house. Beautiful and terrible, like Galadriel.
Stupid wrench. A cab driver who heard the story told us cheerfully that luck often comes from unlikely places. The verdict is still out on this one.