The best writers slowly build tempo. Each stupid decision is revealed in its own time and the reader is prepared for the climax by foreshadowings woven into the tale. Like a beleaguered ship cresting a massive wave, the writer teases the reader with a tantalizing bit of relief before revealing the next, even more massive wave.
Not being a very good writer, I will simply share that I found myself, late Sunday night, standing in the rain without a baseball cap, 85 miles from home. My car had a dead alternator, a dead battery and I was holding a flip phone that refused to transmit audio. Did I mention that I had less than a quarter tank of gas and I needed to pee?
The hero of this story is my brother who had a 6:00 AM start this morning.
He found me by voodoo given the fact that my audio transmissions were garbled.
He brought tools.
We used jumper cables for 40 minutes. We left it on a long time because we were not sure about the connection to my battery. The terminal lugs on my Malibu are pretty rusty.
After charging the battery for 40 minutes we were only able to drive seven miles down the road. At least we did not made it to the freeway before it went sideways again.
In the morning, my extroverted and radiantly cheerful sister-in-law dropped me off at nine in the morning next to the Malibu. I dropped the battery into the car and uneventfully drove home. Incidentally, I was getting four Hail Marys to the mile. I counted.
After Action Report
Pride is the first of the Seven Deadly Sins. I should have tucked my tail between my legs and bolted for home the first time the Battery light flickered on. But I did not.
Family is awesome.
Biding my time so I could drive home in the light (no need for headlights) and when it was not raining (no need for wipers) was a "win". I see it as a classic case of living to fight another day.
The fuel gauge lies. I had enough gas to make it the 85 miles.
And that is why there was no post for Sunday, December 13, 2015.