Then lunch at a Chinese restaurant (chicken lo mein, fried rice, egg roll, and wonton soup), me and a couple the only people in the place. They were amusing to eavesdrop on - the guy was burly and tattooed and about my age, and the woman joining him for lunch was trying hard to be charming. He told a story about trying to feed leftover “mash” he had obtained from a microbrewery to his pigs, but they passed on it.
“Now the cows, they thought it was like candy. They couldn’t get enough of it,” he said between bites of sweet and sour chicken.
“Ha!” his lunch date responded.
I then went to an auto parts store and got my mother a shiny license plate frame with enameled daisies for her new Texas plates. I had borrowed her car to attend the meeting downtown, so I returned it with a full tank of gas and some new bling.
She loved it. I also got her a couple of decals for her back window, which she wanted to be able to spot her car in a crowded parking lot. A bedazzled queen’s crown and a metallic American flag now make her car hard to miss.
The rest of the day was a reading day. I plowed my way through a new biography of the Rolling Stones, which pretty much told me nothing I hadn’t read in the other biographies I’ve read about the World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band. I am kind of amazed how much Keith Richards has rehabilitated his reputation after spending the Seventies in a fog of addiction and amorality. He’s like everyone’s favorite burnout uncle now, albeit an uncle who co-wrote some of the best songs ever written.
I looked up from my book to see that the day had slipped away, and had some dinner (enchiladas) and watched some pro basketball with my wife.
My car is still in the shop. I’m getting the seats reupholstered, and the battery replaced, and they are working on the front brakes. When it’s all done, the repair bill will be about one-third the total value of the entire car, but still cheaper than buying a new one.
My wife does not agree with this logic. She wants me to get a new car, but I am holding out for a little longer under the logic that (a) we may be on the cusp of self-driving electric cars with solid state batteries, and I don’t want to own a practically obsolete car; and (b) the next car will be the one I use to drive around the country and to travel with my grandson, so I want it to be the best for him. I don’t want him telling my daughter, “Mom, I don’t wanna go with him. Grandpa’s car smells bad and is old, just like him!”
At some point, however, the decision may be taken out of my hands. I can see my wife having the old car towed away and sold for scrap, then having my son drive up with a new car, hand-selected by my family, forcing me to politely accept their largesse.
If that happens, that happens. But until then, I will continue to putter along in my bucket of bolts.
Tomorrow: Saturday! I’ll probably cook something and keep trying to get a little better.
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