April 10: A Long Walk, Some Kind of Loss, From "Kyrie"

Took my dog for a long walk this afternoon.  It was cold, and, of course, we encountered barely anyone.  Just a few lonely people longing to escape the four walls of their home for a few minutes.

As we walked, I looked at the houses we passed, thought of the people inside.  Statistically, nobody is going to escape the touch of this virus.  It will enter everyone's lives through some kind of loss.  A parent or grandparent.  A friend.  A car.  A home.  A job.

During the Great Depression, the jobless rate, at its peak, was 25%.  One in four people were out of work.  Economists are predicting an unemployment number that could actually equal that number.  Like I said, nobody is going to be left untouched by this mess.

I joked with a coworker yesterday that we're all going to come out of isolation 25 pounds heavier and alcoholics.  She didn't disagree.

Saint Marty just had a mug of special hot chocolate.  Now, he's eyeing up the Cheetos.

from Kyrie

by:  Ellen Bryant Voigt

My brothers had it, my sister, parceled out
among the relatives.  I had it exiled
in the attic room.  Each afternoon
Grandfather came to the top stair, said
"How's my chickadee," and left me sweet
cream still in the crank.  I couldn't eat it
but I hugged the sweaty bucket, I put
the chilled metal paddle against my tongue.
I swam in the quarry, into a nest of ropes,
they wrapped my chest, they kissed the soles of my feet
but not with kisses.  Another time:  a man
stooped in the open door with her packed valise,
my mother smoothing on eight-button gloves,
handing me a tooth, a sprig of rue--

December 19: Ed Banky, a Car, and Mechanics

Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey.  Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it.  It wasn't allowed for students to borrow faculty guys' cars, but all the athletic bastards stuck together.  In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stick together.

I'm not really going to write about Ed Banky or athletic bastards.  I'll save my thoughts about school athletics for another post.  The reason I chose the above passage from Catcher is that it's the only one I could find that dealt specifically with a car, and that's the real subject of my first post this evening.

I dropped my car off at the dealership this morning for an oil change.  This is the same dealership that told me about four months ago that my vehicle needed about a $1500 repair.  Something about wheel bearings or a wobbly wheel.  The mechanic led me to believe that my tires could lock up and I could die in a ball of fire at any moment.  Or something like that.  It wasn't good.  So, when I left my car at the garage at 5 a.m., I wasn't expecting good news.  To be honest, I was expecting my car to be condemned.

Imagine my surprise when, at about 10 a.m., I got a phone call from "Buck" at the dealership.

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that we did the oil change," Buck said.

"And?" I said and held my breath.

"Everything looks great," Buck said.  "We'll have it parked outside when you come for it."

I stood there in shock for a couple of seconds.  "Really?" I said.

"Yup," Buck said, "you're good to go."

When I hung up the phone, I said a little thank you prayer.  And then I got a little mad.  How did my car go from being a road hazard to a "good to go"?  I didn't do anything to it.  I didn't get it fixed.  Yet, it miraculously healed itself.  Or the mechanic was lying to me at my last checkup in order to get me to pay for an expensive repair my car didn't need.  Take your pick.

I'm going to believe in the miracle, because it's Christmas and miracles are supposed to happen.

Saint Marty will save his piece of mind about shady dealership mechanics for another post.

My car's a little better than this