Solitude: Nobody to Stop Me Reading
First: In which she explains where she’s been.
Parents and sister showed up on Monday on their way down from Canada. When we moved to this new place in January, we took with us two pieces of furniture that Peter said wouldn’t go but I couldn’t let go of. He convinced me to let go of them, but only as far as Walla Walla. So yesterday dad and I drove the two pieces of furniture to a barn he bought in Walla Walla, which needs furniture (sorry, no hoss pictures; I forgot the camera). When we pulled out of the driveway onto West Hwy 12, dad noticed the car seemed sludging to the right. So we pulled into some guy’s driveway and sure enough the right rear tire was flatter ‘n a pancake (with what I strongly suspect to be a horse shoe nail in its tread). So, surrounded by wheat fields and No Trespassing signs, dad jacked up the Chevy Malibu (we weren’t in the Mini, or Peter and I would have done this on our own weeks ago) (dad’s always driven Buick Park Avenues but went for a Malibu because, as he put it, he “got sick of funding Al Qaeda”) and we changed the tires under blue skies and a 98° sun, me staying inside the car as much as possible to avoid sunburn and the most astonishing array of bugs and spiders I’ve ever seen.
Did you know that tire stores will patch a tire for free? Apparently they all do it, as a way of building good will. I didn’t know that companies whose competition made them do everything the same still did things for good will. And such nice young men, too.
This morning I arose in the wee hours to help push the visitors out the door and settled down to…
Read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am now the proud owner of a Bloomsbury-published copy of the great book latterly purchased from Beauvert Books in Jasper, Alberta. None of this Scholastic “we think our customers are ignorant rubes and like to tell them so” Publishing business, oh no! Although I am perhaps finding myself slightly in danger of missing the little illustrations at the beginnings of each chapter. At any rate, I’m by myself for the first time since Thursday last and ah hah! so what if there’s six days of world events to catch up on?!
August 15th, 2007 at 1:49 pm
Flot-tars are Gawds way of saying slow down a little, check out my insect friends, smell the air, hell, have a beer.
That said…. (and I gotta bad feeling I’m repeating this stoooreee)
Back in about 1975 or so a certain young Miss Bruce did call with woe about a burn-out starter to her hero, one D. Hinkle (Esq.) who in swift time did call me upon the phone. Said phone being in the garage of a mutual friend who was a very, very serious B Production SCCA Racer. As fate would have it the parts store was right next door (actually that part wasn’t fate), we gots the starter, threw in the traveling tools, jack stands and jack, plus a case of awful nearly warm, into the El Camino! After a speedy run of about 2 miles on US 90 (Tennessee Street) we arrived and changed the starter motor. From call to engine ignition less than 15 minutes. Purely a fluke, but much fun. I’m still sad we didn’t change the timing and the carb-jets while we had the opportunity. Janet kinda snarled at that idea.
Anyway they are married. Donny proclaimed it was a fine example of what his layabout friends could do when sober.
August 16th, 2007 at 1:25 am
Hahahaha! Every layabout friend deserves a chance to shine. Though not too often.
August 16th, 2007 at 2:05 am
Young Miss Bruce must have known a lot more about cars than most would these days. A “starter motor”? What’s that?
August 16th, 2007 at 8:31 am
Young miss everybodies probably knew more about cars than most old mister anyones anymore.
I thought that was a delightful story, and no I don’t think you’re repeating yourself.