For whatever reasons that I'm not in the mood to research at the moment, Australians drive on the left side of the road. As an American I was afraid this change would be hard to adjust to, especially after my 12 post rant on left lane driving. However, the change has been much easier than I thought. The hardest parts are turning, because there aren't always clear visual clues about where to go, but then that can be hard even in America if you're at a busy intersection. After a few tries behind the wheel I felt pretty confident about my
skillz as a driver in Australia.
I have been very fortunate to make many great and wonderful friends since I first arrived here over a year ago. One of those gracious friends has been Brendan, who took a risk and let me drive his car. I did eventually get a Queensland driver's license, even though I don't really need one while I'm here on student visa. Having a license doesn't really help you learn to drive here though, since the process is essentially completing an application form and paying the fee. (Yes, that's really all there is to it for
American's who want to have one here in Queensland.)
Well, my luck was bound to run out eventually... and that it did on a nice January day earlier this year. I was driving back to the house after having a busy day of errands and school. Although I was a little anxious to get back to begin preparing a dinner for some friends coming over, I was in good spirits. I was driving along in the right lane about 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) away from the house when suddenly the car in front of me stopped. He was responding to the car in front of him who had suddenly stopped. That car was responding to some yellow car that had suddenly decided to turn right and slammed on the brakes because there was oncoming traffic. Yes, I was the tail end of three car fender bender.
I might pause to add that while Brendan was gracious in letting me drive his car, the car he was driving was a 1992 Mitsubishi
Magna that was probably on it's last legs (or wheels as the case may be.) After 18 years the old girl didn't have the reflexes of the younger more agile wheeled transportation. While I stood on the brakes she didn't come to a stop until after bumping the fender of the car in front of me. All said, I think she ended up with more damage than the other two cars, which isn't saying too much if you look at these pictures:
Not knowing what damage had been done under the hood, Brendan decided not to drive it until having it looked at by a mechanic. I encouraged him to call his insurance company, despite some disagreement over whether the person responsible should file the claim or wait until the person affected has done it. The folks at his insurance place were quick and easy to deal with, and before long a truck had come by to get the car. Here's a photo of it's last moments.
Fortunately, Brendan had already decided to get a new car. He had actually already picked out the one he wanted and just needed to get the bank loan in order. In less than month a new car was in the driveway. Here's the proud owner with the updated wheels:
So all said it actually worked out for the best. He got a better deal from the insurance company than he would have trading it in or selling it to a wreckage yard. The bad part is that I was the cause of the old girl's demise. I have only driven the new car twice because I don't want to be the cause of any more damage to vehicles while I'm here.
I have been thinking about my grandmother today. She died February 14, 2008. What a great day to be reunited with those you love. My grandmother is amazing. We used to get in the car and travel the 2000 miles every other summer to see her and our cousins. I remember she always had candy for her grandkids set out so we could grab and run at anytime. She was an amazing cook as well. I loved her banana nilla wafer pudding. The best. Our summers in Hartsville were filled with warm nights, softball days, and family packed reunions from the farm (uncle callis) to a place picked somewhere close where we could all laugh and play for hours. There was always some new 10th cousin 3 times removed to meet and play with. But at the end of each day, grandmothers house was were I wanted to be. It was small and comfortable, familiar and inviting. Grandmothers house always smelled so good like a faint smell of her quick perfume or hairspray on a head full of curls before running out the door. She always used to ask me if all her curls were place as she held up her white flowery handheld mirror to look at the back of her hair in her bedroom mirror. I would always tell her how 
beautiful she looks and I always admired her for never leaving the house without looking her very best. My grandmothers hugs were always so soft and felt like a warm homemade afgan wrappped from head to toe. She never forgot a birthday. Each of her 19 grandkids were never forgotten and were guaranteed to receive a birthday card in the mail with a hand written letter or note about how great they are and how much she loves and misses them. Each one is a saved treasure of mine as if they are gold. I often go into my treasure box and escape into her words and her memory. I can not wait until I get to be wrapped in her arms again and smell that sweet perfume and have her ask me if her curls are all in place. I hope each day that she is proud of me and helps me to choose the way back to her. I love you grandma. You are missed.
Let's rewind:
