As I seem to be on a whiny roll, I might as well complete a triumvirate* of complaining posts. In addition to my lassitude and the bug-ification of our backyard, by Monday two other troubles had temporarily (and mildly; we donʼt want to make too much of this) tormented my life.
About three weeks ago, The Lovely One and I cleaned out our garage, a spring cleaning come several months late. At that time I had to back my truck out of its long-term parking** on the far side of the garage so we could sweep out the whole area and get to things on the passenger side of the truck. No problem — even though the last time the truck had been driven was, I think, a full month earlier, the Frontier moved easily back out in the driveway and eventually back into place, where it had (and still has), I shamefacedly acknowledge, served as a storage unit for accumulating pop cans and bottles that will eventually make their way to the recycling store.
Last weekend, with a small bag of grass I had raked up from the previous mowing still sitting around, I decided to take that litter to the cityʼs yard waste dump. Janet dislikes stuff massing up her trunk, so such tasks ask for the Frontier. Although the starter stuttered, that was the only reaction when I turned the key in my truck. Hoping that simply a wire had come undone, I opened the hood and tried to find a] the starter, b] a possible wire, and finally c] anything much in that engine that looked familiar to me, which was effectively nothing. So Monday morning, bright and early, just after Janet had left for work, as I was preparing to walk to my semiannual dental appointment, I called for help from our car-repair and oil-change shop. They were willing to come and check out the malfunctioning starter (Randyʼs immediate conclusion). He guessed theyʼd be by about 8:30.
Since the truck was in the garage, and I figured theyʼd probably have to get it to their shop for work, I shifted it into neutral and disengaged the parking brake, so I could laboriously push the vehicle out onto our driveway. By myself. Amazingly (at least to me), I succeeded. With no one driving, admittedly, the truck did end up with the passenger side wheels on the grass.
I trekked downtown for my appointment, arriving only somewhat sweaty from the “excessive heat” of the day, already arrived by 8:00 AM. The dental appointment proved the second of my temporary troubles, as Dr. Adrian determined that a partial tooth repair*** her dad/predecessor had done just less than eight years earlier needed to be replaced by a new modern partial or full crown. Gosh, I really wanted to spend a thousand bucks unexpectedly, in addition to whatever itʼs going to cost for Randy to have repaired my truck. (Okay, yeah, I know. Dental insurance will cover close to half of the full expense. The really incredible part is that the difference between the half or full crown comes to twenty bucks.) I walked home pondering my options.
Interestingly, arriving home, I observed the truck was still in position with two wheels on the grass. Although I figured that the repair guys hadnʼt been by yet, I felt hopeful and tried to start the truck. Nothing. Silence. Not even the ticking of the starter this time.
So I went inside and got busy doing (as Iʼve already revealed earlier) nothing much. A phone call about eleven informed me that repair jobs were running long but that theyʼd be by before noon. They were, somehow starting the truck instantly and driving it away. About 2:30, another phone call told me the repair shop receptionist would come by to pick me up and carry me down to the shop to get my now working vehicle. As I usually walk home from and then back down to the shop when we take the truck (and sometimes Janetʼs vehicle) in for work or oil changes, this level of service on such a hot day made me feel almost cheerful.
Now the truck is home, the yard has been mowed yet another time (Tuesday, as I told you), and the grass clippings and tree droppings have been delivered to the dump. I still donʼt know what the repair will cost, nor have I called the dentist back with my determination about that repair job, but Iʼm hopeful nothing else goes wrong as I head back to work next week.
* That word really should be trilogy, as there are no three men involved, but I was feeling humoresque (“by Dvorak” — a poor joke that The Lovely One enjoys on a regular basis).
** With the USDA job (and the GOV in use for that), I really havenʼt had time or opportunity to drive the truck anywhere. When I am at home, except for Fridays, usually The Lovely One is here, too, and we go places together in her car (which consumes far less gas). And I just havenʼt driven anywhere for weeks of Fridays.
And a third footnote — while Iʼm complaining, I must admit to being almost disgusted with Dragon Dictateʼs infuriating insistence on inserting digits not words for every number that is included in todayʼs (and every other dictated) post. It even asininely insisted on “3rd.” Come on, programmers! Writing “the 3 bears” isnʼt even grammatically/mechanically correct!! (Numbers, except for dates and times, should — even today — be written out as words in text at least to twenty and for every even ten to 100.) *** Dictate wanted that phrase to be: “truths we build.”