Broken Cars are a Major Pain

There's certainly no good reason for being gone for so long from blogland, only lame excuses and I'm always full of those, but I'll spare you.  

You're welcome. 

Ummm,  I can't. Because If I don't put my excuses down I'll have nothing to say. And besides, it might make someone feel blessed if they realize it's someone else's turn to have everything fall apart.

I am having car woes, sung in a Major Key. I put out a Major Expenditure on a Major Tune-up and instead of running better, it almost immediately started having Major Problems. The power steering pump exploded or something and I had to get towed to the dealer.   (Major thanks to Andrea  [Precious Daughter1] for the incredible Aid and Comfort In a Time of Need.)

They did Major work on that, the brakes, a serpentine belt (I think they make these things up) and who knows what all and I paid a Major, Major Bill. I got most of the way home when the back end started grinding. No way!  They assured me it was fine, but fine it most certainly was not and just a few days later I had to be towed again and we are waiting to see how major these damages are.  I'm afraid I'm going to end up paying on this car until three years and ten months after I'm dead and gone. 

Whew. 

But I do have pictures.  

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Rusty Wire

Rusty Wire, originally uploaded by MisterTrister.

My son is now my #1 photographer. I love his pictures!

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Also Yesterday...

In the morning before I had my Town Adventures (ahem), we had three huge gravel truckloads of road base dumped on our driveway.  It was wonderful, but it also needed a whole lot of shoveling and raking in order to spread it where it goes.  

I have been blessed with two healthy, strong teenaged boys.  We had one shovel and one rake between the three of us, but we figured it should work well as we would each take a turn with a shovel, then a rake, then take a break, so there would be two people working and one resting at any given time.  

Well, unless you were one of the strong healthy teenaged boys. Then it was more like--work a tiny bit, complain some, pick a fight with the other brother, use energy swinging rake in threatening manner, change to a shovel, continue quibbling, etc. 

I finally gave them a talk about how I was old enough to be a grandmother and they were always flexing their muscles and talking about how strong they were and hey!--does anyone see anything wrong with this picture?!  The strong ones are slacking and whining and the "old, weak one" is working hard without complaint.  They straightened up and finished well while I went inside to get get my skirt all tucked up ready to show the world my lovely black knee socks and legsfrombehind.  

So what happened today? They are experiencing a normal, happy day and I'm so stove up with sore muscles I can barely move.  It hurts to sit and it even hurts to cough. What on earth muscles did I use to rake and shovel??  Either I need to develop some teen muscle mass of the masculine variety (rather doubtful) or limit my strenous exerting to pointing with a delicate finger exactly *where* I want them to do the work.  

I do believe I will take myself up on that offer. Supervisory postion, now filled. Thank you all for applying.  Now go run me a hot bath for my poor sore muscles, would you, Sweet sons? Growing older does have some perks, as it happens!

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BlogPost Fast Is Over

Cause, boy, do I have things to say. 

I have frequent delusional daydreams that I am a normal person--one who doesn't seem to have a hair shirt as a normal piece of underclothing.  But I think it's time for me to wake up and smell the coffee and find a way to reconcile this part of my reality, cause it doesn't seem to be something I'm growing out of. 

Yesterday I had to go to town to do laundry (thanks, Sears! Three weeks waiting for you to come fix the triple load sized washer I use Every. Single. Day.  is really not inconvenient at all) and get my car fixed.  My car has developed a distinctly tangy attitude and is now going on the auction block if we can ever get it fixed long enough to get rid of it. 

Anyway.

At the car fixing place I chatted a bit about what they were going to do, then I walked down the main drag of town, which is also the highway through town.  I made it to the laundrymat, put the clothes in and then had to walk to the grocery store to get money for the washer. I browsed through the grocery store to find something to buy in order to get some money back for the laundry. Fruit section, lunch meat, bread, etc. and finally was checking the deli section when a very nice lady came up to me and asked quietly and hesitantly if I knew my skirt was tucked up into my waistband. ***What?!!!!**   Oh, yes.  Simply another example of me in my glory.  And here's how bad it was--when I pulled it down it pulled for a long time, and more than in one little section and my legs got distinctly warmer.  It was a Major Tuck.

Just how many people saw my cute "situation" is something I'd rather not contemplate. Oh, and because it was so cold out, I was wearing a pair of black knee socks with my skirt.  Yeah, I'm just the very picture of dignity and decorum.

I wonder if a person ever gets used to the feeling of being mortified? 

And no. I had my camera and decided that pictures were the last thing I needed here.  Low as they are, I do have standards.

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