Cars Can Be Fixed

 

          Sunday, a week ago, Mike and I were going on a road trip.

          “Where were you going?” you wanna know.

          We were going to Waterloo, New York to look at a tractor.

          “Peg!” you exclaim, “How many tractors does that man need!”

          I know, right! I guess the answer is one more, since we were going to look.

          “If I get this one,” Mike tells me, “I’m gonna sell one of the other ones.”

          Whatever Mike wants to do is fine by me. There are some things I can’t get enough of either so I’m not going to limit him.

          Last week’s letter blog was done early and I had all day Sunday free to accompany Mike and take pictures on roads I’ve never been on before.

          I pack up coffee, water, snacks, two cameras, purse, eye glasses (I only wear them when I go out), and run through my check list twice. I was confident I had everything I’d need for a day trip. We get to the end of our road, turn left, and suddenly I check my pockets. “I forgot my phone!” I exclaim.

“Do you need it?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. How else am I gonna see my morning love notes?” I love morning love notes with friends and family!

Mike heaves a great sigh, pulls a uey and back to the house we went.

I got my phone and we’re heading to New Albany and the lighting was so dramatic! Dark clouds on the horizon and the sun shining in front of me. “If only I had a better foreground,” I told Mike.

Over the next hill was this barn and the best I could do before we lost the light.

           Our GPS wanted Mike to turn on School Road in Evergreen. Evergreen is little more than a wide spot in the road with a few houses and Mike didn’t turn. He had it in his head that we’d be going in the wrong direction. We get to New Albany and our GPS tells us to turn right.

“I’ll be darned,” Mike says. “I would’ve guessed we’d’ve gone left.”

We turn right on 220 and head towards Towanda. We only went a couple of miles when I see two deer jumping from the road onto the side of a steep bank, yell “DEER!”, and point.

Mike looks.

We turn back just in time to watch as we smash into a third deer.

Thump!

Rattle! Rattle! Rattle!

Crunch!

Bump! Bump!

And I swear I could hear whoosh grunt as the breath was knocked out of the deer.  

“SON OF A BITCH!!!” Mike yelled with three exclamation points. He hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road.

No sooner had the car stopped then I had my seat belt off and reached for the door handle. “Well, what’re you gonna do.” Not a question. In an instant I knew two things. Mike was upset about the car; I was upset about the deer.

Mike followed me out of the car and around to the front. Steam was starting to hiss and rise and fluid was leaking on the ground.

           “You’d better call 911,” I called over my shoulder as I head up the road to check on the deer. That’s where I was going but I told Mike later I’d gone to kick the shit off the road. And I would kick the stuff off the road too, but just before I got there, two cars came around the corner. I stood on the other side of the road, raised my arms as high as I could and frantically waved them back and forth.

They saw.

They slowed.

They did not stop and stuff crackled and popped as they ran over our debris.

No more cars, I kick stuff off the road, and that’s what was I was doing when I saw the deer, laying there in the ditch, head up, watching me.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t get too close because I didn’t want to panic the deer and have it try to get up. I didn’t want to cause it anymore pain than we already had. Now I had a new mission. I kept flagging cars as they approached and now if they stopped, I said, “We hit a deer. It’s still alive. Do you have a gun?”

No.

No.

No.

The longer this went on, the more distressed I became, the more the pressure built from unshed tears, the more my head hurt.

Finally, after ten minutes, a couple of guys stop and did a kindness for that poor deer.

The road kicked clear, deer dispatched, I joined Mike back at our car. Whenever I’d hear a car coming, I’d flag it down so it’d slow down. Five minutes later the New Albany Fire Department shows up to clear the road. Mike backs our car further off the road and I mentioned to the one of the guys that some guy stopped and shot the deer for me.

“Oh, geeze. Don’t tell the cop that. It’s illegal.”

I didn’t know that. Would I have done it differently if I had? No. It was the right to do.

Car off the road, flares put out, the volunteers leave.

“Every time I think about that poor deer, I could cry all over again,” I tell Mike as we wait for the police.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Peg! It’s just a deer! Look at my car! We just got it! It only has fourteen hundred miles on it!”

Okay! Okay! He might not’ve been that harsh, but he did care more about his car.

“Cars can be fixed…” I can’t imagine the suffering that poor deer had to endure. Every minute, no, every second had to be an eternity! Maybe God stepped in, I console myself. He could. He could’ve made it so that poor deer didn’t suffer too much pain. I have to trust in that.

Ten minutes later, an officer shows up.

“Where’s the deer?” he asked.

I pointed. “Up the road. It’s in the ditch and it’s dead.”

The officer took Mike’s license, registration, insurance card, and went back to his car to do the paperwork.

“We need a ride,” Mike said. “Can you call the Kipps?”

It was Sunday morning. “They’ll be getting ready for church.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time. It was just before eight o’clock. Church was at ten. “I think there’s time,” I said and dialed.

“Hello,” Lamar answered.

No niceties, I just jump right in. “We need a ride, we hit a deer. Can you come get us?”

“Where are you?”

And I told him. Then there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for the officer, wait for the wrecker, wait for Lamar.

I’m just giving you the barest of overviews. Lots of things happened, most unimportant, lots of things were said, but it makes my head hurt when I try to remember. This tender-hearted girl was really traumatized and on the verge of tears all the time.

When everything was taken care of, we loaded up in Miss Rosie’s little blue car. “I would’ve brought my car, it’s bigger,” Lamar explains, “but Rosie said to take hers and you can borrow it until you get yours fixed.”

How in the world did we get lucky enough to have such great friends and neighbors as the Kipps‽

Lamar made a turn-around and headed for home. “Want me to take a short cut?” he asked.

Before Mike could say yay or nay, I say, “Sure!” I’m always up for new roads. And Lamar turned onto the road that we would’ve been on, had Mike listened to our GPS. Ironic, isn’t it?

Lamar started pointing out landmarks and gave us a tour of his childhood. He grew up in the area, left for a stint in the service, came back, married a cute little redheaded gal named Rosie, and never left again.

I’m always a little envious of people who have lived in the same place for a long time. They have deep roots.

I was going to skip church to accompany Mike on this road trip, now I didn’t have to. “Would you pick me up for church?” I asked Lamar and he said he would.

At church, pulling into the parking lot, I see the Dogwood is blooming.

And that means, that right underneath it, the Fringed Polygala would be blooming too!

Two of my morning love note gals go to my church and were surprised to see me. I’d already told them I wouldn’t be there. Recounting the barest of details was enough to make my eyes well up.

Other people were nearby, listening. Everyone had a story, and everyone agrees, killing the deer as quickly as possible was just the right thing to do.

“Most times an officer will just look the other way when this happens,” a wise and beautiful lady told me. “They don’t want the deer to suffer either. And it probably saves them a lot of time since they have to do paperwork whenever they discharge their weapon. But I suppose if you got one that was a jerk, you could get a fine.”

 Later in the day I asked Mike, “Did you call Charlie?” He’s the guy with the tractor that we were going to see.

“Yeah. He marked the tractor pending.” That means he was holding the tractor for Mike until we could get up there to see it.

Nothing else got done on Sunday but first thing Monday morning Mike made calls to the insurance company and to the leasing company, since we lease the Explorer. The leasing company doesn’t care, as long as it gets fixed.

Progressive, our insurance company, was right on it. Taking the report and leasing a car for us. We’ve got a Toyota Highlander for the next thirty days.

They had our car towed to our local collision repair shop which came highly recommended by a couple of people we know, one of them being the Kipps. Miss Rosie had her car fixed there when a truck backed into her.

“They’re nice people, they did a great job, it was pretty quick, and you’d never even know my car had been wrecked,” Miss Rosie said.  

We stopped to get some of the stuff out of the Explorer and who should show up while we’re there but the insurance adjuster.

Michael found out where Ken lives, how long he’s been doing this job, and what happens next.

“I’m 73 years old and I’ve never hit a deer, never had an accident before,” Mike’s told everyone.

“You can’t say that anymore,” was one of the responses he’d gotten.

“You’re lucky,” was the most common.

Everything is online these days. Our insurance claim came that way. It came in to our email. Just the damages the adjuster could see amounted to ten thousand dollars but they’ll likely find more when they start taking the car apart. If the air bags had gone off, they’d probably have totaled it.

Me?

How am I doing now, a week later?

I spent a fair amount to time thinking about this and have come to the conclusion it’s all my fault.

“No, it’s not!” Mike said when I told him that.

I explained. “If I hadn’t’ve forgotten my phone, we’d’ve been past the spot where the deer crossed before they crossed it,” I explained. “If I hadn’t’ve said ‘DEER!’ and pointed, you wouldn’t’ve looked. It’s all my fault!”

I know! I know! Y’all can poo-poo my feelings if you want to. Nobody gets that upset about hitting a deer. I miss my mom. She would’ve understood. I can even hear her counsel in my head. Something she’s done for me many times over the years.

“You don’t know what’s up the road. Maybe hitting the deer saved you from something far worse.” That’s what she would’ve told me. We might even have made up a few scenarios to prove the point. And I would’ve felt better.

“You can always talk to me,” my oldest and much-adored sister told me after Momma died.

So, I did. I called Patti. She didn’t say the things Momma would’ve said but nonetheless, she did make me feel better. She’s a good sister.

Charlie, the tractor guy, and Mike made a new date to see the tractor. We’d be going Friday.

In the meantime, life doesn’t stop. Flowers bloom. This is Purple Deadnettle. It’s in the mint family and called ‘dead’ because it doesn’t have the stinging hairs of a real nettle plant.

Even an old apple tree, broken and twisted in the last big wind storm, hasn’t given up. 

Mike sat in the golf cart and waited patiently as I took picture after picture of the beautiful blooms.

Then a Tiger Swallowtail shows up and captures more of my attention. He’d flit from place to place, never letting me get close enough for a decent shot. “Just sit down!” I told him. Finally, he did. And this is a male. A female would have a conspicuous band of blue spots along the hindwing.

We were out checking to see if the mailman had gone through yet. He hadn’t. “You wanna ride down to the corner?” Mike asked. “Maybe we’ll pass the mailman.’

“Sure. Only I want to ride up to the Y and see if that old house is still standing.”

This is a big beaver dam by the game commission building. Can you see it? 

When I print this, I know those people can’t zoom in on it and see it so I’m going to make it bigger for them. Now can you see it? Beavers are amazing engineers.

 And we did pass the mailman. But we kept going out to the old house.

It’s still there.

We head home and I see catkins hanging from a tree — but I didn’t know they were catkins.

“Wait!” I say. “Backup.” Then I remember my manners. “Please?”

Lots of trees have catkins on them. Alder, Aspen, Black Poplar, Birch, English Oak, Grey Poplar, Hazel, Hornbeam, Sessile Oak, Sweet Chestnut, Willows, and White Poplar. Which one this is, I couldn’t tell ya.

The neighbor’s yard. Since I’ve been making metal flowers, I’m more aware of them then ever.

 “Did you make any flowers this week?” you ask.

Did I make any flowers! You’re gonna die when you see what I made. That’s what I told Miss Rosie.

“I don’t wanna die!” she said.

“Okay, okay! Maybe not literally.”

But before I get there let me share with you a problem I was having and how I solved it.

The problem? Punching a center hole for my grommet. Mike bought me a punch kit. It’s for all kinds of things including light metals. Well, that’s true if you only want to punch one or two holes. Then the punch gets dull. “They didn’t use a hardened steel,” Mike said and sharpened it for me. But after the next use, it was dull again. I decided to try a perforate and punch method. I took a screw and punched holes the whole way around a circle I drew, then punched it out. It works well enough and is easier than trying to force a dull punch through. Short of buying an industrial grade punch, I’m not going to find anything better. Problem solved. 

    

The other problem I had was Miss Rosie’s flower-spinner. I wasn’t happy with it. Then I had an idea and called Miss Rosie. “If I add another set of petals, what color would you like?” Then I named off all the colors I had. My collection of spray paints is growing exponentially and I can tell you the cheapest places to buy them.

“Yellow?” Miss Rosie asked? I’d missed saying yellow.

“Yellow it is! But I’ve never put five layers together before so we’ll see if it works.”

Well, I must be getting better because I could squeeze five layers onto one grommet! First time ever! I’m much happier with her flower now — and it spins!

Then, in a morning love call to my Miss Rosie, she says, “I have a question for you.”

“Go for it!” I encourage.

“If Marla (their daughter) wants one, will you make one for her? She has a birthday coming up.”

“When’s her birthday?” I asked.

“The beginning of June.”

I knew the Kipps were leaving at the end of the week to spend a combined Miss Rosie birthday and Mother’s Day with the girls. I thought it would be a shame to make Marla wait that long to experience the happiness a spinner gives you. “Let’s do it now!”

“Is there enough time?” Miss Rosie asked.

“Sure. I’ll make it tomorrow.”

“Wait, Peg,” you say. “A spinner makes you happy?”

It sure does. It’s unexplainable. At first, I thought it was just me because I’d made them, then Miss Rosie started telling me how happy it made her to look out and see her spinners spinning.

And ask my beautiful friend Joanie. She’s like the strongest person I know. She’s faced so many challenges, so many heartbreaks, and yet, when she walks into a room, she brings sunshine with her. I thought it was time someone else gave her a smile. Unbeknownst to Joanie, I took my yellow flower-spinner over to her house and planted it outside her garage where I knew she’d see it when she pulled in her driveway. Wait, let me clarify that. Where I hoped she’d see it when she pulled into the driveway.

Then I waited. I knew she wouldn’t be home till five-thirty or so. Five-thirty came and went. I was nervous she didn’t like it/didn’t see it. Then at six-thirty I saw her post.

“I’ve been Peg’d!”

She knew where it came from!

“Had a big smile on my face and in my heart when I came home from work,” Joanie posted. “I LOVE IT!” and she thanked me.

I knew it wouldn’t catch much wind there in the shelter of her house and I also knew she couldn’t see it from inside very easily either. But once she moved it and saw it spinning for the first time, it made her happy too!

So, I fixed Miss Rosie’s flower. Then I made a purple and green one for Marla. Those are her favorite colors. And again, I was able to use five layers.

I love adding details. It makes all the difference in the world. But when I look at this one, I don’t see it. I think it looks perfect just the way it is, without any added details.

Peg, they’re gonna think you’re just being lazy, I think. I squint my eyes, turned my head sideways, and think of what I can add where to make it prettier. It wasn’t happening for me.

“Miss Rosie,” I called for like the fourth time that day. “I’ll add detail if you want but I don’t think it needs it. Do you wanna come look at it and give me your opinion?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

So, I left it alone. But I really didn’t want anyone to think I was just being lazy by not adding any details. Then, in my mind’s eye, I see a butterfly hovering over it. I got online and started searching for butterfly patterns and stumbled on a ladybug pattern.

How cute would that be, I thought when I saw it. And my creative juices started flowing. I could do it in three pieces. That would make it easier to spray paint. And not only that, but I could put it together with my rivets, which I haven’t had a chance to use yet.

There’s just nothing as exciting as starting a new project — unless it’s finishing a new project and loving the outcome.

I loved how this ladybug came out. Mike helped me put the rivets in so he gets a little credit for it, too. He really is a good husband.

Then I went on the hunt for a piece of aluminum wire we had around here someplace. It was a four-foot piece of fat braided aluminum left over from something. When Mike asked if I wanted it, I shrugged. I couldn’t solder it, so I really didn’t know what I’d ever use it for. Now I had a use for it — if I could find it. I searched high, and I searched low. I searched the craft room first because that’s where my stash of wire lives. But I couldn’t find it. Then I looked in the next likely place, the wayback. It wasn’t there either. Then I looked in unlikely places and still couldn’t find it.

“Is it in the barn?” Mike asked.

I took a flashlight and went down to look. Spotlighting helps you focus on one thing at a time. I learned that from watching CSI on TV. It wasn’t down there. So, I started all over again, searching the same places I’d searched before. It still wasn’t there. I gave it a rest physically; mentally I was still looking for it.

“You can buy a short piece of it,” Mike suggested.

“I don’t want to buy it! I want to use what we already have!”

For the third time I went out to look in the craft room. I was just positive that’s where I would’ve put it. This time I took the flashlight with me. And I found it. Believe that? I was looking for a roll and it was a straight piece leaning up against the wall. I stripped the plastic coating off and untwisted a piece. Now how am I going to attach it? I wondered. I tried to flatten it but there wasn’t enough material there to make a very big flat piece. Not big enough to put a rivet through anyway. I twisted it into a circle and test fitted a rivet. It would work. I could rivet it in with one of the wing rivets. For the other end, a simple circle for a screw would work. My wire was a little long but you can compensate for that by moving it up or down on the post. You could even have the ladybug come up from the bottom if you wanted too. There was enough wire to do that. And there it is! Isn’t it cute! I thought about making it a purple and green ladybug but thought it would be better in more traditional colors.

I was so excited, I wanted to show Miss Rosie. Then I thought she might be sad because she didn’t get a ladybug. I kept my excitement in check and made one for Miss Rosie’s flower, too!

I was working on the second ladybug and thinking about how to improve it from the first one. The only thing I came up with was to make the wire shorter. It really didn’t need to be that long. Heck! I thought, It’s long enough for two!

Two?

Two!

I can put a butterfly on the other one!

I found a butterfly pattern and sized it for the can I was using. I picked a Tiger Swallowtail. It was only after sorting pictures for my letter blog that I wondered if I’d picked that because I’d seen one earlier in the week.

I finished painting barely an hour before I had to take the flower-spinners down to the Kipps.

 Now I had to prepare the stakes. Luckily, we inherited a huge crate full.

“They used them to divide the lumber,” Mike said.

I picked out a bunch, Mike put points on the ends, and I sanded them with my little palm sander. Only two are done in the picture since I don’t sand them until I need them. I love that I can give a whole, complete gift. Flower, screw, post, the whole deal.

“You’re gonna die when you see it,” I told Miss Rosie.

“I don’t wanna die,” she said.

“Okay! Okay! Maybe not literally.”

Miss Rosie was watching for us to arrive and I didn’t want her to see the flowers too soon so I left them on the back of the golf cart. Then I went to get Miss Rosie.

“Now come out on the porch,” I told her.

“Okay.” She humors me.

“Now turn around until I tell you to look.”

She dutifully did so.

“Now this one’s Marla’s,” I said. “You can look now.”

Miss Rosie turned around and I know she was surprised. She was expecting just a purple and green flower and not a ladybug, too.

“That is so cute!” she exclaimed and I was pleased.

I handed Marla’s flower to Lamar and told Miss Rosie, “Okay, now turn back around.”

I got her flower, got into position to catch her surprise, and said, “Okay.”

Boy! Was she was surprised! Her face says it all! “Do you like it?” I asked, grinning from ear to ear.

She laughed. “Do I like it? Silly girl! I don’t like it — I LOVE it!”

          Even though I’d already given her one for her birthday, I sing-song, “Happy birthday to you!” Then I confided, “Even if it wasn’t your birthday, I’d’ve given it to you anyway.” I love giving her gifts.

“Thank you!”

“I bet I could sell those for twenty bucks.” Something I’ve been thinking about doing.

“You could probably get more than that,” Miss Rosie replied.

Miss Rosie’s is the largest flower I’ve made so far. It’s about eighteen inches square whereas the others were only thirteen inches.

          I’ve been fooling around making a few small flowers too, not spinners, but they’re not painted yet so I’ll save them for another time. Then it was Friday and time to go look at Mike’s tractor.

          Some of our 112-mile trip was on roads I’ve been on before, then on the highway. There isn’t usually a lot to photograph on highways. And someone noticed the lack of shutter clicks. “You’re not taking many pictures,” Mike commented.

          “Well, there isn’t much to take pictures of. Besides, I’m challenged! With the windshield dirty and spots on my side window.” The wipers only wipe so much of the windshield.

          The last sixty miles of our trip was up through the Finger Lakes Region of New York and I took tons of pictures.

The Finger Lakes is comprised of eleven long, narrow, roughly north-south lakes and is New York’s largest wine-producing region with over a hundred wineries and vineyards. Cayuga and Seneca Lakes are among the deepest in the United States, measuring 435 feet and 618 feet respectively, with bottoms well below sea level. Though none of the lakes' width exceeds 3.5 miles, Seneca Lake is 38.1 miles long, and 66.9 square miles, the largest in total area, according to Wikipedia.

I picked out about a hundred road pictures to show you but I think they’ll have to be a separate letter blog.

We arrived at Charlie’s house about the time we told him we’d be there.

 “Can I take your picture?” I asked.

“Me?”

“Sure! A handsome guy like you!” I didn’t explain about my letter blogs.

“Flattery will get you everywhere!” and he gave me permission.

Mike and Charlie looked the tractor over, started it up and ran it, then started talking about the boring particulars.

I took pictures of all his cool junk sitting outside.

Bloom where you’re planted.

Then we went inside the garage!

 “Why does your mallet look like this?” I asked holding it up.

“I use it to close paint cans with,” Charlie answered.

Mike and Charlie made a deal that includes replacing a couple of things Mike wants fixed, and delivering it, then I asked, “Is there a good place to eat around here?” It was nigh onto lunchtime.

“Magee’s Diner,” Charlie said and told us how to get there.

“What’s your favorite thing to eat there?” I wanted to know.

“The roast beef and French fries with gravy all over,” Charlie said spreading gravy around his imaginary plate. “And for dessert they make the best Strawberry Shortcake.” There was a gleam in his eye as he described it.

 We didn’t have any trouble finding the place and since I couldn’t decide on what to order, I ordered Charlie’s favorite, right down to the Strawberry Shortcake. 

Mike got one of the specials which was a Meat Lover’s Omelet.

Our food was good and way too much for me to eat. I took half, or a little more, of my plate of roast beef and fries home. And Charlie was right about the Strawberry Shortcake! It was da’bomb! Between the two of us, we polished it off.

I missed some pictures on our ride up that I would like to have gotten. I always tell Mike to remind me on the way home.

 “STEAK DINNER,” was one sign that Mike read and I missed. “S-T-A-K-E,” he spelled.

I laughed. "That’s the wrong kind of steak.” I thought you might get a kick out of it as well so I asked Mike to help me find the sign on the way home for a picture. Things often look different going in one direction than the other and we missed it.

Luckily, I have a very handsome and talented artist friend who brought my vision to life. Thank you, Shawn Raymond, for the drawing.

Gas was a little cheaper in New York state than it is in Pennsylvania. Mike stopped and filled the tank. Then he tickled me when he got the windshield washing wand from the bucket of solution and cleaned both my windows for me. I didn’t even have to remind him. 

He really is a good husband.

 Two things before I sign off.

Mr. Mister’s been brawling again. He’s got quite a nice gash on the back of his head. I got the peroxide and a syringe and squirted it clean. Then I smeared some triple antibiotic ointment on it. I was worried about touching it, although he’s never ever hurt me, but when they’re hurt, who knows. I need’t’ve worried. He actually seemed to enjoy it when I massaged the ointment on.

With the changing of seasons, the sun is once again setting off my front patio.

And with that, let’s call this one done.