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Today, I drove down to Maryland to have High Tea with Kel, Queen Liz, MiL, and Kel's BFF from college. It was a lovely tea, the tea shoppe knows its clientele, and Queen Liz was as delighted with her lemonade (served in a teapot) and chocolate-chip scone as I was with my almond tea, selection of sandwiches, and key-lime tartlet. (I have given up chocolate for Lent again. I know this will get harder over time, but today, key-lime tartlets were a viable substitute.)
My car drove fine the 45 miles down to Maryland.
My car drove fine the 45 miles back up from Maryland.
My car drove fine on the side trip to the used bookstore, where I netted five books I have been on the hunt for, and one unexpected bonus romance novel.
Then, 1.5 miles from home, literally within sight of the turn towards my development, the car started to jerk a little. And slow down. Unsure, I eased my way onto the shoulder, parked, turned on my hazard lights, and waited. The motor continued to run smoothly. I waited a couple of minutes, then shifted back into "drive" and tapped the accelerator. The motor revved, but nothing moved.
"Crap," quoth I.
I called Yeats to let him know I was fine. I texted my MiL, to let her know I was almost home safe. Then I called AAA. They were there within a half-hour, and it was agreed that my car would be towed to our mechanic's shop, we would leave a note on the windshield explaining the situation since they were already closed, and hopefully we could arrange something on Monday. As we were getting the car off the AAA truck and settled at the garage, the mechanic pulled up and said "I was passing and saw you in the lot--what's up?"
So honestly, if this had to happen, it happened in a good way. It did not happen on 95, somewhere in the wilds of northeastern Maryland. The mechanic knows my car is there and knows the situation, and will look at it first thing Monday morning. I can hitch a ride to the garage from a friend, or call a quick Lyft. And according to Yeats, who did some Internet research before coming out to the garage to get me, it's probably something related to the transmission, which can either be easily fixed with transmission fluid, or...less easily fixed with money. Which we can afford right now, thanks be to God.
I am home. Yeats poured me a beer and made comfort omelets for dinner. I do not have to go anywhere tomorrow, and can use Yeats' car if I do end up having to. And if I need to take a personal day to wait at the garage on Monday, this is why I have them.
Still, I may just sit here on the couch and emit a few therapeutic Tina Belcher groans.
Reading Log: Don't Tempt Me by Loretta Chase; Gold by Gemini by Jonathan Gash; The Heart of Valor by Tanya Huff; Something New by Lucy Knisley; Not Your Villain by C.B. Lee; Fear the Drowning Deep by Sarah Glenn Marsh; When I Cast Your Shadow by Sarah Porter; Intrusion by Charlotte Stein; On the Come Up by Angie Thomas
My car drove fine the 45 miles down to Maryland.
My car drove fine the 45 miles back up from Maryland.
My car drove fine on the side trip to the used bookstore, where I netted five books I have been on the hunt for, and one unexpected bonus romance novel.
Then, 1.5 miles from home, literally within sight of the turn towards my development, the car started to jerk a little. And slow down. Unsure, I eased my way onto the shoulder, parked, turned on my hazard lights, and waited. The motor continued to run smoothly. I waited a couple of minutes, then shifted back into "drive" and tapped the accelerator. The motor revved, but nothing moved.
"Crap," quoth I.
I called Yeats to let him know I was fine. I texted my MiL, to let her know I was almost home safe. Then I called AAA. They were there within a half-hour, and it was agreed that my car would be towed to our mechanic's shop, we would leave a note on the windshield explaining the situation since they were already closed, and hopefully we could arrange something on Monday. As we were getting the car off the AAA truck and settled at the garage, the mechanic pulled up and said "I was passing and saw you in the lot--what's up?"
So honestly, if this had to happen, it happened in a good way. It did not happen on 95, somewhere in the wilds of northeastern Maryland. The mechanic knows my car is there and knows the situation, and will look at it first thing Monday morning. I can hitch a ride to the garage from a friend, or call a quick Lyft. And according to Yeats, who did some Internet research before coming out to the garage to get me, it's probably something related to the transmission, which can either be easily fixed with transmission fluid, or...less easily fixed with money. Which we can afford right now, thanks be to God.
I am home. Yeats poured me a beer and made comfort omelets for dinner. I do not have to go anywhere tomorrow, and can use Yeats' car if I do end up having to. And if I need to take a personal day to wait at the garage on Monday, this is why I have them.
Still, I may just sit here on the couch and emit a few therapeutic Tina Belcher groans.
Reading Log: Don't Tempt Me by Loretta Chase; Gold by Gemini by Jonathan Gash; The Heart of Valor by Tanya Huff; Something New by Lucy Knisley; Not Your Villain by C.B. Lee; Fear the Drowning Deep by Sarah Glenn Marsh; When I Cast Your Shadow by Sarah Porter; Intrusion by Charlotte Stein; On the Come Up by Angie Thomas
