Strange Car Karma

After driving 20 hours, I reached Seattle, briefly collapsed, did the laundry, flew back to Oakland for a memorial service, returned home and wanted to crawl under a rock. Instead I took care of my car, which needed new tires, an alignment and a headlamp bulb. $800 later, I had a perfect vehicle – for 5 minutes. Something looked odd. I realized with horror that the front end was dented, the hood didn’t close and the bumper was askew. How and where did this happen, was my state of mind so fuzzy that I hit my car on the Interstate and didn’t remember it? I narrowed it down to the most recent repair, stormed into Les Schwab Tires and tried not to appear insane.

Much to my amazement, the store had security camera footage showing my pristine car, until it went into the parking lot while I was paying my bill. And there, captured in crystal clear video, was a white pickup truck backing into my car, then taking off with a macho squeal. The managers whooped in delight. It was like a CSI scene, we should have had popcorn. The asshole who did the hit and run was busted: I had his name, license plate, and service records (no HIPAA privacy concerns in the auto repair world). He was driving a company truck, rushed in for a flat tire fix, and then ruined my day. His employer contacted me immediately, took all responsibility and is paying the $3800 bill. Yes, that’s what it costs to mess up a Subaru.

Tony’s Auto Body shop down the street is now doing “teardown,” a terrible yet descriptive term. They’re also fixing a big dent that has nothing to do with this episode - as long as the car is being ripped up, why not (I’m paying for the extra labor). I’m driving a rental SUV; Enterprise made sure my kayak and bike would fit inside. I spent yesterday and today sitting through an AARP-sponsored defensive driving course to lower my insurance premium. It was very ironic. I perked up during the part about deteriorating reflexes as we age and parking technique.

I’m going to take the SUV to a remote beach for my birthday this weekend, sleep in a tent, and enjoy my solitude.

Day of the Duck

It’s been a fun week as Julie, who I’ve known since kindergarten, came to visit me and Sid. She stayed on the certified wildlife farm, sleeping in a pink bunk bed normally used by a 9 year old girl. We had lots of sleepovers when we were that age, so it seemed perfectly natural. As soon as she arrived, we got locked out of the house and she had to crawl through the kitchen window after I used a crowbar to remove the screen. She pointed out that my mother was probably saying hello from the great beyond, messing with my keys again. I mentioned this possibility to my father - he smiled with recognition and agreed it was indeed Mom having some fun with us, just like the old days. Julie was quite helpful; we worked as a team to wrestle the stressed out duck into submission. (Chickens are stupid. I can bribe them with bagels to return to their coop. That duck is a whole other creature – way smarter than me, very humbling.)

Based on things that can’t be rationally explained, Julie suggested that we both get psychic readings at the local County Fair. I went along with the idea mostly to discount it. Ladies in flowing robes with credit card machines on their laps read the energy from our palms. Julie enjoyed her analysis. Here’s the Cliff Notes version of mine: I’m on a journey (duh, I’m always in transit – literally). Helping others is important to me (good guess). I will have 2 income streams in the future to support myself (sounds good, will one be this blog when published?) Someone hurt my heart (isn’t that why there are so many country ballads?) and a man I loved recently deserted me (true, he died). I’ve mostly recovered from bad romance, but I’m protecting myself from disappointment by avoiding dating (based on my match.com and ok cupid experiences, I should run screaming). However, in 5 years I will have a companion, not one I would have expected, and I may have to relocate to find him (now I’m getting interested, is he in Australia waiting for me?) I am on the right track to happiness; I’m by myself but not alone.

Meanwhile, the only men flirting with me are over the age of 80, that’s okay. Dad is my favorite boyfriend right now. He’s not happy that I’m leaving town after a month of spoiling him. In the last 5 weeks he’s gone through a bad fall, a hospital stay, skilled nursing, rehab, a cancer scare and an upset tummy due to eating too many pickles. He’s one resilient guy. Imagine what the psychic reader would say about his future!

The Menagerie

In my quest for affordable lodging near Dad’s retirement village, I have an arrangement with a lovely couple who run a pesticide-free farm (they also teach surfing). They went to Mexico to chase the perfect wave and I’m now on rent-free duty for 8 days, watching the house and pet-sitting the following: 7 chickens, 2 chihuahuas, 2 rabbits, 2 guinea pigs, 1 cockatiel, 1 chinchilla and a duck. Kind of like an organic Noah’s Ark. My tutorial had extensive instructions:

• Let the chickens out daily to wander the yard, eat bugs, and then corral them into their coop by sunset. If they resist, yell at them in German – “achtung!” (attention!), “runta!” (come down from the tree!) Do not disturb the mother hens who are sitting on their newborns, give them extra protein snacks. Toss all fruit and uneaten food into the coop along with organic chicken pellets.
• Guide the duck with a broom and refresh all the water he ruins when tracking in mud (very messy duck).
• Wash the dogs in the bathroom sink with Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap to kill fleas. They enjoy it.
• Make sure the boy rabbit and girl rabbit don’t mix (for obvious reasons). Give them fresh bale straw if they look bored.
• Feed grass to the guinea pigs for extra Vitamin C, and filtered water to the bird.
• I can eat and drink whatever I like, but if I leave it out on the table, it will disappear within seconds.

Taking care of my father suddenly seems really easy.