Proud to Be Silly

I was debating whether to adopt the practice of having a certain type of post on the same day of every week, which seems to be common practice on many blogs, say like Silly Saturday. .  But I decided no.  This is my chance to not copy others.  So I’m going to be silly whenever I feel like I need to be, which would be tonight.

I name things. Sometimes I name things because it is easier to remember a name than it is to remember what the thing is.  For instance, Ted.  Ted is a piece of furniture I’ve had for over 20 years. I’ve never been able to figure out what exactly Ted is but it sits in my dining room and holds dishes and tablecloths, batteries and flashlights.  Not a china cabinet, not really a buffet, it became easier to just call it Ted.  Especially when trying to tell someone like the husband where to find something in it.  “Look in the drawer of the…. of the….. that thing in the dining room!”  So much easier to say “Look in the top drawer of Ted.”  And now, after nearly a quarter century he’s finally figured out who Ted is.

I also like to name my vehicles.  They are with me for so long that they become disturbingly like family members – they may as well have names.  My last vehicle, the Aztek, was named Sunny which was short for sunshine, being that it was bright, schoolbus yellow.  I’ve had my new old car for almost three weeks now and have been unsure what to name it.  I wanted something meaningful.  Today I decided to call it LC (Elsie).  LC stands for little car which is my first thought almost every time I interact with the thing. “My goodness, this is a little car!” I think, as I try to figure out where to put my coffee cup, my cereal bowl, my purse, my workbasket, my sunglasses, and my lunch. “My goodness this is a little car!” I think as the husband bangs his head climbing into the passenger seat.  “This is a little car!” I say to myself as the pump only puts in 9 gallons on a fill-up and goes twice as far on that as the previous vehicle.

I have a daughter with the “naming gene” too.  Her present truck is named Nemesis.  We bought it for her rather hastily, without her input and she pretty much can’t stand the thing. The car she had before Nemesis was named Claire.  I know she named her very first car too but I can’t remember it’s name, Patty or something like that. I didn’t really bond with that car.

I’ve named my houseplants (because I can never remember the word “hydrangea”), several notebooks, my kindle, and my property (the oneacrewoods). I have a cat I call Gray Kitty, which is a very practical name for a gray cat.  So you see, naming things is kind of an adaptive mechanism as well as being a bit odd, and it serves me well.  I’m just sayin’, I’m kind of proud of being silly when it comes to names.

Have you ever named an inanimate object? C’mon, fess up.

Now It’s Getting Personal…

I was out of town over Thanksgiving and the first week of December.  My car sat in the garage, shielded from the sun, resting, but evidently not enjoying itself.  I think it misses frequent contact with the road and other cars and of course, when you meditate on what you’re missing you develop an attitude (big time).

A car with an attitude, who knew? This is not a new discovery. My car and its shenanigans have been written about before because it is a thoroughly frustrating problem for me.  It has cost me money and put me in inconvenient circumstances. Usually I’ve been able to work around and tolerate what goes on. I have a high powered battery charger with me always, and my keys are arranged so I can take the fob with me when the key is stuck in the ignition. But now, well, it’s getting personal – a whole new level.

One of my first trips out was to a meeting in Sarasota. I parked and said a little prayer as I turned the key, only to find it stuck in accessory position. Knowing I would have to leave it like that, I turned off all the things that could drain the battery, including the radio.  I got out, shut the door, hit the lock button on the fob, and the radio came on.  It would be kind of fun to have a car that behaved like a naughty child if I didn’t have to depend on it so much.

After a day or two of being docile and compliant, it again surprised me at 6:30 one morning as I woke it up to take me to work.  Lights flashed, things whirred under the hood, lots of clicking, but no starting.  After several tries the flashing and clicking got weaker so I gave up. The husband took me to work. 

The car sat in the garage with the battery charger attached for a day or two with no improvement while I got permission from our mechanic to get it over to his shop. The husband got a tow truck the next morning. Just to make sure we were still dealing with a malfunction, I turned the key and satisfied myself that we were still clicking and flashing with seemingly quite a bit of battery power.  The husband was able to put it in neutral for it to be winched up onto the truck. Off it went.

The husband went ahead to show the tow driver where to take the car and this is the report he came back to me with.  They arrived at the garage and could not get the car out of park to roll it off the truck. There was no response from the battery at all. So they had to use the “shake and jolt” method to slide the car down the ramp.  Jerk, slam, slide, bang, repeat…   After getting to the ground, the husband decided to get in and turn the key and, you guessed it, it started.  He started it half a dozen times with no trouble at all.  Then he paid the tow truck driver $50 and they left. Sob…

I have stopped in at the garage since and talked with the mechanic. Mostly what he said was “you’re in no hurry, are you?” No, I guess not. I noticed he had a charger hooked up to my car.  I can’t imagine why.  I’m just sayin’, I see a trade in my future. Don’t tell the car.