And How Should I Presume?
Thus was a line in one of my favorite poems, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. In essence I am not quite sure what to write about lately. There are some things that I really feel a strong desire to express. But for the sake of my own sanity and the awareness that there are certain readers who are likely to warp and twist my words, and inevitably scamper off and report them to other nameless, faceless figures, I have a unanimous vote to just keep it all to myself, which is really pretty pathetic when the only vote is your own. But I digress.
In an attempt to entertain myself and possibly yourself, I could relate the most recent occurances with my car. Of course as fate would have it Wanda choked and sputtered and kicked only 10 minutes from the Krupp's house. For those who are not quite up to date, I had retreated to South Carolina about a week ago for a friend's wedding. As I drifted toward the shoulder and onto the grass I echoed her mutterings with some of my own, which also shall remain private. Popping the hood open, I took a peek at my darlings entrails. Steaming hot, I was hit with a wave of heat, which shoved me backwards and away from the car. Feeling rather helpless, I grabbed my purse from the passenger's seat and headed up the road. About 5 yards up the road a rather normal and nonthreatening gentleman pulled over and offered to take a look at the car. Unfortunately he too could not pin point the problem except to accuse me of running out of gas, unawares. Rather insulted I continued walking up the road. Just because I am a female does not mean that I am so out of tune with life to allow myself to run out of gas. For those of you who have had such misfortune, I do not mean to insult your intelligence. Things happen. But for me, this was not happening.
Walking, walking, walking. Sweating, sweating, sweating. I walked for about a mile and noticed a lack of sweating before I really became concerned. I soon approached a pasture only to find a group of donkeys saunter up to the fence. "Yes God, I hear you. I know I'm an @ss!" I continued walking. Not too far past the donkeys a cop rolled up along side of me. Scarlet faced and tear stained I answered his predictable question. "No, I'm not ok, and yes that is my car back a ways. Yes I would like a ride." I sat rather quietly in the trooper car for the 8 minutes ride up the road to the Krupp's house. Pulling into the drive Rachel and Lauren came running out to greet me, faces painted with concern. Point in case, Dean, Rachel's father had the car towed and had some diagnostics run only to find that the timing belt had broken. He authorized his mechanic to fix Wanda and I would repay him for the charges.
Mounting my not always faithful steed for the ride home I prayed to arrive safely and in my own vehicle. Then as indicated by my 6th sense, and only 70 miles from Chattanooga, she started stuttering and sputtering again. I did arrive home safely but rather jostled, only to find that something else was wrong with the car. More diagnostics were run and I was sorrowfully informed that another $400 would be required to repair the oil that had leaked into the spark plug valve, and the spark wires, and all the plugs, and a number of other things that have slipped my mind. Sigh.
Currently we are running up to par, but my bank account, that's another story. . . . . .
In an attempt to entertain myself and possibly yourself, I could relate the most recent occurances with my car. Of course as fate would have it Wanda choked and sputtered and kicked only 10 minutes from the Krupp's house. For those who are not quite up to date, I had retreated to South Carolina about a week ago for a friend's wedding. As I drifted toward the shoulder and onto the grass I echoed her mutterings with some of my own, which also shall remain private. Popping the hood open, I took a peek at my darlings entrails. Steaming hot, I was hit with a wave of heat, which shoved me backwards and away from the car. Feeling rather helpless, I grabbed my purse from the passenger's seat and headed up the road. About 5 yards up the road a rather normal and nonthreatening gentleman pulled over and offered to take a look at the car. Unfortunately he too could not pin point the problem except to accuse me of running out of gas, unawares. Rather insulted I continued walking up the road. Just because I am a female does not mean that I am so out of tune with life to allow myself to run out of gas. For those of you who have had such misfortune, I do not mean to insult your intelligence. Things happen. But for me, this was not happening.
Walking, walking, walking. Sweating, sweating, sweating. I walked for about a mile and noticed a lack of sweating before I really became concerned. I soon approached a pasture only to find a group of donkeys saunter up to the fence. "Yes God, I hear you. I know I'm an @ss!" I continued walking. Not too far past the donkeys a cop rolled up along side of me. Scarlet faced and tear stained I answered his predictable question. "No, I'm not ok, and yes that is my car back a ways. Yes I would like a ride." I sat rather quietly in the trooper car for the 8 minutes ride up the road to the Krupp's house. Pulling into the drive Rachel and Lauren came running out to greet me, faces painted with concern. Point in case, Dean, Rachel's father had the car towed and had some diagnostics run only to find that the timing belt had broken. He authorized his mechanic to fix Wanda and I would repay him for the charges.
Mounting my not always faithful steed for the ride home I prayed to arrive safely and in my own vehicle. Then as indicated by my 6th sense, and only 70 miles from Chattanooga, she started stuttering and sputtering again. I did arrive home safely but rather jostled, only to find that something else was wrong with the car. More diagnostics were run and I was sorrowfully informed that another $400 would be required to repair the oil that had leaked into the spark plug valve, and the spark wires, and all the plugs, and a number of other things that have slipped my mind. Sigh.
Currently we are running up to par, but my bank account, that's another story. . . . . .
posted by Patti RN | 9:39 PM
2 Comments:
Are you sure that you can't at least lease a cheap little something or other? Bryce was telling me something he saw for under 200 a month. Maybe you could get on Dad to get Sabrina Henry fixed- or maybe even Shmoe would do it? I left the title on the fridge last time I was home. It will take about a grand to fix her, but everything else in her has been replaced almost save the transmission. Think about it.
"I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid."
well it could of been worse, I had to walk 12 miles through the desert in New Mexico/Texas only 5 miles from the Mexican border. Luckly it was night but still around 90 degrees, with no cell reception to even get a cop. Just one of my too many "fun" adventures this summer.
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