My mother just called me, from the median strip of the Ohio turnpike.
They’re all okay, but their van got hit by a semi.
It apparently still runs.
I may write Dodge a letter tomorrow and tell them that their vans are amazing beasts.
I talked to my brother for a bit–I have a seven year old brother, go figure–and while I am generally very bad with children, I have a fairly consistent ability to crack him up, which is the only skill useful at such moments long-distance. I dunno if it helped. Mom claims so, but Mom, I suspect, is in that slightly glazed post-shock state where if I stated that moon was made of little green fairy marmots, she’d agree just so that she wouldn’t have to deal with it. Not that I can blame her.
I have nothing particularly useful to say about this. They don’t need a ride, they’re all okay, and I’m pretty much typing to avoid having to think about it. Which doesn’t make for particularly interesting reading for you guys, I imagine, but hey, you’ve read through thick and thin so far, so…err…yeah.