14 January, 2005
diamond in the back, sunroof top, digging the scene with a gangster lean

it took two months and the usual boxcarloads of "what ifs", but the old swedish box lives to roll another day.

after attempting to diagnose why the cd player was in competition with the tectonic vibrations coming through the bodywork with similarly cacaphonous rasping in the dash, i'd repaired plenty along the way: new exhaust, drained and reconditioned the gearbox, replaced wheelbearings, rotated tires to no avail. then, this past weekend, i decided to jack up the motor... and discovered the broken motor mounts. no damned wonder: the motor was resting on the framework. amazing that my fillings weren't rattled loose.

considering that the bizarrely-warm/blissfully-welcomed indian summer was about to come to a crashing halt, today had to be the day that it was finished. after all, that thing has heated seats. my ass craves intimate relations with warmth when the thermometer sinks.

even before checking my email, but not before three atomic cups of coffee, i jumped into the overalls like i was scrambling for a duel with von Richt�fen. lifted-unbolted-drained-nudged-cursed-hammered-clamped-degreased-fastened-dropped... then, smoked a cigarette in the afterglow, following a five-hour up-and-down VolvoAerobics course that should have been scored by a pornsoundtrack.

but i've got my heated seats back... and wheels that roll, like Odin intended.

just in time for the fat grey clouds to insinuate themselves overhead. good timing... for once.

so absorbed was i by the task and the rockabilly, never-before-heard-soul, vintage punk pounding from the radio that i never heard trucks delivering gravel in the drive. totally immersed, focused, hell-bent... i wish i could have bottled that intensity so i could use it when i need it most. cheaper than an eightball, and less incarceration-friendly.

on the inevitable shake-down cruise, i stopped by the postoffice. there, a little four-year-old girl was intent on opening the door for everyone, then closing it behind them. i thanked her, and got back a musical "you're welcome!," nice, from someone so young.

she was still there when i approched the door to leave, so i said, "you know, you're a pretty good door-opener."

i got back a "thank you" with dimples and that ear-to-ear grin that you usually see on hair-colouring boxes.

i think she had the grip on focus pretty good, too.

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