Treat all disasters as if they were trivialities but never treat a triviality as if it were a disaster.
~Quentin Crisp
Apparently, I decided to take a week off posting. I have no idea when or why I decided to do this, but the degree of hecticality that has inundated the Fraser stronghold had something to do with precluding me from typing inanities. (Actually, I think I do know when; that's rather obvious from the date of the last post, but the specific reason - the 'why' mentioned above - still eludes me.)
In summary:
A weekend in which both my wife and I quickly succumbed to the flu, within hours of each other. I spent the first night huddled under the electric blanket, wearing a thick sweatshirt and sweat pants, shivering with chills until, waking in the middle of the night, my sweats rather lived up to their appellation and had to be squelched from my sodden frame.
Amy and I took it in turns making wind sprints to the lavatory. The non-participant (spectator) wondering gruesomely which end was going to be evacuated. I could be so much more grotesque in my details, but I'd really rather not. Nor, I imagine, would anyone reading this.
Our son, thankfully, evaded all ills that assaulted us, his parents, and was the picture of complacency, content to amuse himself in the living room while his indolent parents occupied both the sofas under various mountains of blankets and pillows, only occasionally issuing guttural noises in attempts to reassure our son that we were still there; still loved him and were doing our best to look out for his welfare.
We hoped that some of the food scraps we tossed on the floor made it to the boy before being snapped up by the dogs.
One of whom, by the way, broke the second dog door I had installed in the back. The Jack Russell. Since the Boxer was in her kennel while we were out. It's a large dog door. He's an undersized Jack. Curious. The pet store promises to make amends since it broke the same way as the last one and I've bought two of them now. And a gaping hole in one's back door as winter creepeth ever closer is not conducive to palatable heating bills.
Various dealings with the car, also.
Currently contemplating doing a late-night drive-by of the abode from where we bought it used and lobbing sundry flaming items through whatever panes of glass are most appealing.
After sinking almost two grand into it in the short time we've so far owned the beast (just over a year now), it's having a bit of a tranny problem. It's an automatic transmission and currently needs to be manually shifted between first and third gears to get anywhere. Placing it in drive has wonderful side effect of spontaneously down-shifting into second gear after you've started cruising at 60 km/hr, which is good neither for one's neck nor the chance of drivers following too close behind.
The repair shop was pleased to report, after their free estimate, that it's going to take a full rebuild to fix it. Not sure how much yet, but it'll fall somewhere between two and four THOUSAND dollars. "And we'd be able to get started on that right now for you if you'd like, Mr. Fraser. Just say the word."
The word is "no."
Caveat emptor, and all that.
So we'll park the over-sized paperweight in the garage for the time being until we decide what we can afford to do with it. I think we're just going to have to bite the bullet and get the bloody thing fixed. My wife needs her ride and I can only come home early so many times before work starts to suffer a little.
Mind you, on the drive in to work this morning, the news flash on the radio blurted out that a local woman, going to wake her young son yesterday morning, walked into his room to find that he had strangled to death overnight via the string on a pair of toy nunchuks.
I can deal with the flu, and dog doors, and the car problems. Those are the trivialities in my life. I have everything else I need. And I am unspeakably thankful for it.
I feel for you in your car woes. Lucky we haven't had any since the Hynduai (s)Coupe days. Horrible little piece of trash. Are there no lemon laws in Canada? I'm pretty sure that in the US, whoever sold you that car would be in a heap of trouble for putting you in a heap of s*it.
Mark
Posted by: Mark | Tuesday, 15 November 2005 at 02:05 PM