I had to go to traffic court last week.

Way back when, on Virginia primary day, I had to drive all over this part of the state, visiting polling places and reporting live from them. The day was a nasty and cold day, with wet, spitting snow. Charlie, who worries, sent me off in his Toyota truck with 4-wheel drive. (As an aside, he and I are an interesting study in contrasts–I’m the original yee-hah girl, he is Mr. Caution. It makes us very good for each other. He keeps me from spiraling off into outer space on a whim; I keep him from being an old stick-in-the-mud.)

Anyway, long story short, in Charlottesville a very nice cop pulled me over, because Charlie had forgotten to get his truck inspected (Virginia requires that this be done yearly). I didn’t mind the ticket as much as I minded the time it took to write it. There I was trying to get this young man to write faster so I could go report!

The deal about such tickets are, if you go to traffic court and can produce a proper inspection sticker, they will dismiss all charges. So, of course, I had to go. What a bore to have to drive all the way back to Charlottesville (70 miles) by 9 a.m. on a work morning! But a necessary bore, since I didn’t want the ticket on my insurance.

Anyway, I showed up at traffic court and there (also waiting to show her current inspection sticker), was a dear–and I mean really, genuinely, dear–old friend from before sobriety. And it hit me like a blast directly from H.P.: I still owed this woman an amends for my behavior. I have no idea why I’d never sought her out to make one before, but I hadn’t and now here shewas.

We were so glad to see each other. We caught up, talked about life, and then–out of the blue–I just told her I was sorry for the extravagantly emotional way I’d behaved at times during our friendship. And she apologized (needlessly, I felt) for not recognizing that I was in trouble.

I immediately felt close to her again. All the fun we’d had, all the good talks, all the good stuff just came tumbling back, fully alive, into my heart. Made amends are miracles, in my opinion. How else can you explain their healing power in our hearts?

The fundraiser, by the way, is going swimmingly. I think I’ll still have a job when it’s over!