The Christmas car crash

And facing a "sweet" new year

After the indulgence of the holiday season, I for one am excited to purge my pantry from all the Christmas treats which felt important to consume. I’m looking at you, all three varieties of chocolate mint cookies. The Dollar Tree version was a new and surprisingly delicious 2025 addition to the annual repertoire.

It’s not just the pantry that needs purging, though. Bad attitudes, unhelpful habits, and living beneath our privileges have got to go as well. And when better to do it than after a season of (usually) overspending, overeating, and overscheduling? A new, fresh year is the perfect chance to make something more of our days, ourselves, and our lives.

Our family kicks off our New Year reflection party early with a holiday we call Sweet and Sour Day, held annually on December 26. Our family was introduced to this holiday by my sister’s friend from her 18-month church mission. Jess came home with the ability to speak Portuguese fluently, an envy-worthy Chaco line, and this new tradition, courtesy of a missionary friend we call Bourne. Because that’s her name (last name).

The only expectation of this holiday is that you eat Asian food, preferably Chinese since at least Americanized Chinese is known for the sweet-and-sour flavor. Plus, they give you a fortune cookie; your fortune might just give you some ideas for your next year. Over this meal, we reflect at least lightly on the past year, and talk at least loosely about plans and hopes for the new year. That’s it. Pretty simple. Should you choose to also adopt this tradition, you too will love having such a low-maintenance holiday in your repertoire.

We’d had a couple runs of this new holiday tradition, when on a fateful December 26th, I had to miss it. Driving my car and possessions to Las Vegas in order to start a new job took precedence over Chinese food. I’d been living at home since graduating college, working as a phlebotomist, and “running” my first business, Deck Your Halls. and while there was much good to anticipate in this new chapter, I wasn’t feeling very sweet about things.

Sentimental Sally I am, I was wildly nostalgic about leaving Montana, friends, and family behind. Several unknowns awaited me in Las Vegas, and I was nervous. There were tears. Giving myself permission to be sad and nervous for another hour before I focused entirely on what was going to be awesome about this next chapter, I let myself get good and sad. Lots of sappy music and lots more tears accompanied me as I entered the miles-long small town of Island Park, Idaho.

Caption: I may or may not have taken this picture of impressively high snow drifts in Island Park while driving. Approximately 10 miles from the scene of the crash.

Just 10 minutes shy of the appointed time for my attitude adjustment, I spied with my little eye a double-cab red truck pulling a trailer of snowmobiles approaching the highway. The roads were a sheet of ice but as long as everyone did what they were supposed to do, we were all fine. Unfortunately, Red Truck wasn’t able to hold up its end of this unspoken agreement, and slid right through a stop sign. In their path was my white 2000 Corolla—the one with a newly and expensively repaired passenger door handle—driven by me. The T-bone impact shattered several windows, most notably the passenger one. Thankfully, most of that glass embedded in the foam guitar case I had in the front seat, and not my face.

This Coralla had a handbrake which I’d used extensively for fun on wintery Montana roads. As I spun multiple times down the highway in a “lucky” break in traffic, I found myself instinctively playing with the handbrake to control my spin. I did a lovely job of it, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the road, essentially parked parallel to the snowbank and facing oncoming traffic.

After navigating everything with the other driver, the sheriff, and the tow truck driver, I called my dad.

“Hi Dad, whatcha doing?” I asked in a tremulous voice.

As is his way, he answered cheerily. “We’re at Chinese for Sweet and Sour Day!”

My next and officially tearful question was, “Do you feel like driving down to West Yellowstone to get me?”

Bless his heart, he did. He embarked on the two-hour drive straightaway. And three hours later arrived at the auto body shop where I was waiting. You should know that my dad is a napper. As in, he needs naps on a roadtrip of any length. Including sometimes trips home from Costco. His drive down to West Yellowstone was a two-nap drive.

We loaded my glass-shard riddled possessions into his car, then he drove us to my aunt’s home in Logan, Utah where we spent the night. I remember falling asleep in a basement bedroom reflecting on…life. The accident could’ve been and probably should’ve been much worse. It was the first time in my life I’d knowingly come close to something which could’ve ended my party of life, and I felt it.

What was this feeling I was having? Ah, yes. Profound gratitude. To physically be mostly fine, to have a dad who was willing to drop even Sweet and Sour Day, to have insurance, to feel my aunt and uncle’s love, to have a safe place to sleep that night, to get a new year of life, accompanied by this new and profound appreciation for my life.

It wasn’t the Sweet and Sour Day I thought I was going to get, but I can see now how it ended up being very fitting for the holiday. Not that I’m going to ever aim to recreate it, and I wouldn’t recommend you do either. But maybe you’ll join me in the other parts of the day, like letting yourself experience—for a set amount of time—the “sourness” of certain things being over. Like doing something about the parts of life that feel out of control. And contemplating another day and year of life as an incredibly sweet gift.

P.S. If you end up a) eating Chinese and b) getting a really great OR really lame fortune, please share. We’re in this cool life business together.

Isn’t life cool, and aren’t people interesting? See you in the next one…

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