Sunday, April 24, 2011
Long time readers of this here blog thingy will know of my tales of car wrecks that happen outside our house, and sometimes into our yard.
It is the curse of having a corner lot on a busy-ish street - one that is one way with a decent curve right near us.
The speed limit is clearly marked at 20mph, but it is also clear that most everyone doubles that "suggestion". Bastards.
So on Friday night, we were sitting around eating the lovely salads I had created via Mike, via Martha. I may or may not have heard a disruption in traffic, to which normally my ears are very attuned anymore. And yes, I may have heard emergency vehicles, but that means nothing since we live near two major hospitals. I should have picked up on the fact that the sirens stopped as they came near our house. Not always an indicator, but it can be.
As we were thinking of bedtime, Denton was walking through the house and saw the emergency vehicles. We wandered outside to see what was what.
What was, was this.
the one last year took. Maybe not as far up into the yard, but still........
The ivy had grown back, where the car last year had ripped out a landing strip - now we're back to square one. .....not that I really care that much about ivy. That's not the point.
The point is, the city hasn't done anything about the plethora of accidents that happen here. I mean, sure they did when that one guy went over the cliff in his car and died. So I guess someone has to die in our yard before the city does something. Fair enough.
C'mon fate's right hand - decapitate some moron driver!
Last time, the folks were walking around and alright. This time, there was no driver to be found when I went out. The ambulance had already carted him off to the hospital that caters to the trauma level set. That couldn't have been good. He missed the telephone pole by an inch or so. See?
So far, the only upshot is that I contacted (again), via email, some city guy about fixing this problem. He has seen every picture I've taken of every accident on the property. Oh yes, I'm documenting any of them I come across.
On a Saturday, he not only emailed back, but forwarded it up the management chain. Here's hoping. Here is hoping!
Song by: Rosanne Cash