Archive - November 2020

BLINK ON – blink off – BLINK ON – bl–

My car’s name is Buzz.  He is a little red 2008 Suzuki SX4, named after Buzz Aldrin, of Apollo XI fame.  And I love him.  Most of the time.

Except for now.

BLINK ON – blink off – BLINK ON – bl–

It was all so simple, you see.  Finish tutoring, hit the highway, beat the worst of rush hour traffic, drive 20 minutes to the suburban Staples to curbside-pickup the deliciously mustard corduroy tote bag that was out of stock in town …

BLINK ON – blink off – BLINK ON – bl–

Now I’m no longer ahead of the rush hour traffic.  Oh no.  I’m the object of all those drivers’ curiosity (and, dare I say, pity?) as they zip on by me on their way home.

Looking out my driver’s side door window, I see the Staples mocking me.  “That was easy,” it taunts.

I haven’t gotten there yet.

BLINK ON – blink off – BLINK ON – bl–

The noise of my hazard lights is boring itself into my brain.

When I left my house this morning, I thought Buzz sounded a little more … aggressive … than usual.  A little more snarly.  I made a mental note to pop into the garage on Thursday, as they would be closed tomorrow.  And then — decision made — I promptly turned up the stereo.

Everything was wonderful at the beach, through the residential areas, zipping along the highway, right until I came to the last intersection before Staples.  At that point, there was a roar to rival a Harley Davidson convention, and something — metallic and important-seeming — dropped from the bottom of my car and began to drag, making rock tumbler noises along the pavement until I got safely pulled over on to the shoulder.

BLINK ON – blink off – BLINK ON – bl–

Now I am sitting here, watching the sky darken, waiting for my husband to come rescue me (again), and wondering what fell off.  Is it beat-up enough I could claim it as space junk?  Could I sell it on eBay?

Headlights appear squarely in my rearview mirror, and I can see the silhouette of my dog’s tail wagging madly in the back seat of the vehicle pulled over behind me.

Help has arrived.

 

 

 

I’m sitting in the dark, my glasses reflecting the light of the TV and the iPad screen.

I’m having what I call “a bad eye day,” when my eyes feel they’re being stabbed by hornets, and they run like Niagara Falls.  It’s another little quirk that came with my personal dosage of rheumatoid arthritis, and most of the time it’s not that bad.  But some days — like today — the least bit of light will make me feel like I’m trying to read in a car wash, sans auto.

It’s probably stress. The US election has got me in a bit of a knot, and stress tends to exacerbate autoimmune diseases.  Makes sense.  The body feels stress, thinks it’s being threatened, and it goes on the attack.  Unfortunately, in the case of autoimmune disease, the attack is on its own body.

I’m the sort of person who has to watch.  If I know what’s going on, I feel better than if I don’t.  It will probably be a late night for me.

The irony here is that I can’t even vote — I’m Canadian — but there are so many good friends in the United States, and I want them to be healthy, happy, respected, and safe.  If I haven’t recognized their country in the past four years, I can only imagine how they feel.

This is far more political than I normally get in a public space, but it’s all that fills my head and heart today.  I hope that this country to the south of me (just an hour’s drive away) comes out of this for the better.

God bless America.