An interesting few days here...for example, the "adult" children removed SO MUCH from the "secret stash" of chocolate that I reserve mostly for husband's lunches (he has few vices; coffee & chocolate & local beer, all in extreme moderation), that I was forced to hide the remaining two bars. (I got enough to last for a couple of months, during last Tuesday's trip to the Big City to pick up husband from his trip to see Zela.)
To backtrack, last Monday I got called in to work at the vet because the receptionist was sick, so the animal care person becomes the receptionist and I become the animal care person. When I got home at noon, there were a couple of muffled phone messages for me, from 8:30ish: the freight guy wanted to deliver the hood, but I had to be home. He was leaving town at 9. So, I frantically called the freight guy and got him on the road, he'd already left town, my next chance for delivery was Thursday. (At this time, I still had hopes that the hood could maybe be installed before I went to pick husband up the next day.) So, I said, where are you? "Halfway between Yourtown and Nexttown" (which means, he'd been back through my town. So I said, do you know where Acme Automotive is? (this is much condensed, of course, in the interest of brevity)...My son works there, he can take the shipment, you can spot him because he has dreadlocks. And he said, I know him, I make deliveries there all the time! And then I called Son, who was astonished at my audacity and told me to NEVER NEVER NEVER do anything like that again (arrange a delivery to his place of work) without contacting HIM first, and I explained that I knew this, but had to think fast because I WANTED THAT HOOD. So that night Son called and said the hood was safely in his truck. We will see this truck again in...
Chapter 2! So, Son showed up on Saturday night to install the hood. So we all had some dinner and chat time before even though it was dark and getting late, but Son said first he needed to run his truck down to the road and back up, to keep the engine warm enough. (This truck is a recently acquired Ford F250 that was new a few decades agao, the kind of truck that "everyone has owned", dark blue with a nice rust patina. So we got in the car and I had to fit my feet around a big toolbox on the passenger side floor, without crushing the hat behind the toolbo, and son got to the business of starting the engine and putting it into gear, which apparently involved fiddling with some cables behind the steering wheel. And then son got out of the truck a couple of times to mess with something outside, and the truck started to roll, and I tried to throw myself at the brake, but being frustrated by the tool box and not seeing the right number of pedals (it's an automatic, all of our vehicles are manual), I OF COURSE pressed the accelerator to the floor, the truck sped down the driveway and fortunately the wheel turned (I don't remember if I had anything to do with this, and instead of running down to the turnaround halfway between the carport and the road and off the embankment and down the hill, hit the curb that separates the drive from the front yard, went over, spun sharply to the right in the gravel bed of the front yard, and ran into the adobe garden wall. And Son had somehow managed to get into the cab, although I had dragged him down the hill and bruised him on the curb on the driver's side. He said, "That's a good wall." (This curb is about a foot high and a foot through, with sharp edges. So after the confusion had cleared, there was the truck, neatly sandwiched between the wall and the curb. I cleaned the mounds of gravel out from under the tires, and we tried to drag the bed of the truck sideways so that he could back the truck out in the opening for the garden walk, but it was dark and we decided to wait for morning. Husband (who is a better Homes and Gardens type of person at heart, and hates the way that my violin has little peck marks from my fingernails all over the varnish) said some dark things about the two black marks on the white wall, and the slight cracking in the plaster on the other side, but he seems to have recovered from the experience better than I thought he would, especially after I pointed out that everyone makes mistakes, like the way he melted down in front of his psycho boss...
And THEN...son put the hood on the car, and of course had to take it home for the night, because his truck was obviously going nowhere.
Chapter 3: Son came by the next day and was able to drive the truck out with little trouble. In the process, he managed to step on a ceramic sun/moon disk that I had in the front yard, something Zela and I picked out from one of those roadside establishments that sell imported stuff like mariachis mode out of found materials and talavera frogs and stuff like that. So now part of it is splintered and I'm not sure if it should stay as it is, or if I should try to put it back together. Maybe some things shouldn't be fixed?
Son has become extremely eager to help fix our cars, likely to atone for his part in this multipart failure (who in his right mind puts a vehicle in gear on a fairly steep driveway, without having SOMEONE in the driver's seat?), so the next job will be tracking down the reason my dad's old work vehicle is losing coolant so efficiently. Son also feels confident enough with his new mechanic skilz to spend a weekend rebuilding the engine before it fails catastrophically.
Chapter 4: So after husband went to work in the newly rehooded car (goldish with black hood, doesn't look bad, may keep it that way, depending on how sturdy the primer is), I found a horrid mess in a corner of the carport. Apparently when Son took husband to town yesterday to recover our car, he had to throw a bunch of stuff out of the passenger seat to make room for his dad: a regular hoarder's next of fast food detritus and cans of beans and other foodstuffs of somewhat questionable quality and Lela's backpack and school lunch box and clothes etc...took me quite a long time to sort and dispose of it. And then to make room for sweeping, I picked up an ice cream bucket half full of some toxic car fluids and spilled quite a bit of it on the floor, had to clean that up as well as I could, will take another pass.
Just another entry in a Journal of My Redneck Life.
p.s.I tried to attach a short video of Zela's gloves, knitted by hand in one piece on a knitting machine (her school is heavily into the fiber arts) but "mp4 format is not allowed". So I screenshot a grainy frame. I think it is rather cool...