Once upon a time, I had a cute, 2003 Pontiac Sunfire that was a fun little car that hauled me back and forth across America a couple of times and recently turned over 93,000 miles. (As you may have guessed, “had” is the critical word here.) It rarely required more than the usual maintenance, however, a few months ago it needed a new fuel pump (cost and labor, $500) and a new battery.  I also had the transmission serviced and figured ol’ Sunfire was good for at least another 50,000 miles.

Wishful thinking.

The other day, I was driving with the flow of traffic down Auburn Way at the given speed limit of 35 mph. My passenger, Joyce, and I were buckled in like the responsible citizens we’re supposed to be. All of a sudden, a white, 1994 Chrysler appeared directly in front of us, crossways to the lanes of traffic. Can you imagine such a thing? Of course, there was nothing I could do except hit the brakes with the lightening-swift reflects I’m famous for.

But alas, to no avail. I plowed straight into that damn fool Chrysler. The airbags exploded with a cloud of carcinogenic dust, which inflamed the skin of my hands for the next couple of days no matter how often I washed them. (However, such irritation is certainly preferable to going through the windshield.)

It was the end of ol’ Sunfire. Totaled out. The same was true for the Chrysler, but it could still lope across the street and out of the traffic.

I guess I lapsed into shock for a few seconds.

Later, I’d find the young lady in the other car had driven from a stop sign directly into the traffic. God only knows where her head was. I didn’t talk to her. She was sitting outside her car, terrified and crying. That’s surely understandable because the wreck was her fault and she didn’t have any insurance. My heart went out to her.

Of course, my most immediate and important concern was Joyce, not the other driver. Joyce was in a world of hurt.   So much so, the paramedics strapped her to a stretcher and hauled her to the Auburn emergency room.

I’m happy to report she didn’t suffer any broken bones or permanent injuries, though some of her chest and back muscles were pretty severely bruised. For the past couple of weeks, she hasn’t done much except drop high-powered Tylenol and kick back with several best-sellers in front of the fire.

I had planned to buy a new laptop in the near future. I’d also intended to drive to Nevada to purchase some booze to restock my bar. But you know what they say about the “best laid plans of mice and men.” Instead, I’ve bought a Ford Ranger, which has seriously disrupted my cash reserves for the next several months.

Unexpected events like this remind us that we shouldn’t set our plans in cement because you never know what will happen next. Bearing that truth in mind, the best we can do is make a few adjustments and continue on our way.