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FastForward. Starting around seven in the morning... all through the weekend. Until today. Perhaps the Volvo was crying for attention, the laying on of hands. Two more days of fretting over the gearbox hoodoo, to a temporary solution. At least the big bucks have been averted... a little snakeoil and refreshed lube, and some front suspension tweaks and the Viking seems to hum more than moan. This car is a girl. Undoubtedly. Perhaps she's an "Inga." This wouldn't be the first gal auto in the AutoBiography. "Ms. Peel" was one, also. '67 Jag S-type. All teardrops in design... and maintenance. Quite lovely, but not as endearing as her namesake. Who can still park her go-go boots in my boudoir, anytime. The motto of all this: If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. For once, mine is. It was like teaching someone to drive... helping to buy (reasonably), install, setup and teach the basics of her first ever computer. Good progress, and a focus for her mind... finally. Amazing what selling the homestead can do for the bank account and attitude. It must be said that it's seldom to the extreme of decades when she seems to have any peace. Inspiration freed from mental bounds. A fearsome family trait. The Bond curse. This marks the extent of the past few days. Though, in small glances off of the main focus I witnessed... The three-dimensional swirl of windblown red leaves advance towards me, against a background of flaming yellow poplars. Like going into hyperspace on mescaline. Sober as a judge. In the third occurance, the manual pointer on the barometer was turned all the way to the top of the scale. And nobody claims to have moved it. Miss Jane in a pleasant mood, all weekend... thanks to the Doc prescribing anti-depressants. Ah, that'll cure everything. My Psych professors would be proud. They were the same guys who tried to humor the error of my ways, in my earliest college days... attempting counsel me off of pursuing parapsychology, on to the drugery of clinical pursuits. Like psuedo-soothsayers beating off to Sigmund Freud. Enough for me to abandon the inclination... and the expense. Two roads diverged. About roads... Herewith, from the path:
Another Lighthearted, Zany Rumpus from my Fun-Loving Neighbors! |
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