Wheels, Frost, Toys and Time.

I guess I need to start up from where I left off yesterday. Our cliffhanger: The Socialist, stranded in territories unknown, with his beloved Palimpsest unable to assist (or even abet). The poor man went out to lunch yesterday and treated himself to his favorite restaurant, Chik-fil-A. While he was busy filling up, the front right tire of his beloved Matrix was headed the other direction. When he returned to his car, the only thing between the asphalt and his super-special alloy wheel was some very badly compressed rubber.

Picture of super-special alloy wheel in question

Now, The Socialist is a thoroughly competent weekend mechanic. He may not know how to fine-tune a turbocharger, but he certainly can change a flat tire. And he was all set to do just that when he discovered that these special alloy wheels required a special tool to get the nuts off the wheels.

So there he sat, in the middle of the Chik-fil-A parking lot, with a class he needed to teach coming up and the nearest gas station a mile and a half away. Oh yeah. And no roadside assistance.

Uh, well, that might have been my doing. We used to have Triple A. Then I purchased my Prius. And my Prius came with a wonderful, Toyota-backed Roadside Assistance program. So I dropped our Triple A.

Now, I was sure I had told The Socialist that I was dropping it, and he could pick it up on his own if he wanted. The Socialist has a different take on that. Regardless, it definitely came to light in August during an ill-fated ran-out-of-gas-in-the-Prius moment that I had roadside assistance and he didn’t.

So anyhow, I feel guilty, but not too guilty, about his being stranded. He did eventually get the tire fixed, and got to his class on time, but I still need to look into getting him some sort of emergency service so this doesn’t happen to him again. I’ve already made a few inquiries, and I’m just waiting back for responses.

Well, it’s happened. This morning I woke up to our first hard frost. What’s left of my beautiful morning glory vines is limp and wilted. My zinnias are freeze-dried, my miniature roses are sticks with thorns, and my little blue puff-puff flowers are now grey puffed-puffed flowers. It’s sad to see the last of the garden come to an end so abruptly.

Yes, I’ll plant again next year, and I intend for it to be spectacular. But this summer was different. The garden was a beautiful gift, and it gave me an incredible amount of joy during a time when I was hurting pretty badly. I’m glad I took so many pictures. I’m sorry to see it leave me.

My company is once again doing “Operation Christmas Child” this year. The idea is to take a shoebox and fill it with school necessities, toiletries, small articles of clothing and toys. They didn’t provide any suggestions this year on what to put inside, but last year they suggested things like pens, rulers, soap, toothbrushes and toothpaste, socks, and small dolls and toy cars. I put a box together last year, and had fun doing it (see 27 Oct 2002 – Lazy Days and Shoebox Toys for details).

I still wish this wasn’t so Christian oriented. I’d like to think that needy kids would be getting these boxes regardless of their families’ religious affiliation. Still, the boxes are going to kids who need them around the globe, and at least it’s an organized effort that I can put some trust in. I used to give stuff every year to Toys for Tots, until I discovered that some toys were being taken during the sorting by volunteers for their own children. Since I got this from a first hand witness (who said the volunteers considered this their pay for helping out), so I pretty much have to believe that it was happening.

But, as usual, I stray from my original path of thought. This year I’m wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to budget the shoebox in. My income is down due to missed days and some additional money I’m putting into my pension plan every month. Then it struck me. I have a piggy bank just inside the front door of the apartment that I’ve been throwing spare change into. That sucker has got to easily have thirty dollars in it. Maybe more. I started doing this because I have an annoying tendency to accumulate coins, and this gave me some place to get them out of my way. Now it not only has a function, it has a purpose. That’ll be my holiday-donation-to-kids bank.

I think I’ll take the straw hat, surgery mask and hospital ID bracelets off of him and get him a holiday garland instead.

I threw five dollars into the Powerball pool at work. I’m friendly with the guys who do a lot of the direct animal handling, and they invited me to join in. I’m not sure how high the jackpot has gotten to, but last I heard it was around $190 million. Heck, I’ll be happy to split the $550,000 Lotto with the guys.

Don’t worry, I haven’t written my resignation note or put a down payment on my vacation beach house yet. It’s fun to dream though.

Tomorrow I get my hair done, and … and … and NOTHING! For the first time in weeks I have a virtually unscheduled weekend. Indeed, a virtually unscheduled weekend with an extra hour appended on it. Oh, I know I curse out daylight savings every spring when it steals my hour from me. I know I shouldn’t be so grateful to a thief that is only returning what is rightfully mine, after having deprived me of it for half a year. But I can’t help it. Cozy apartment, cozy sofa, cozy cats, cozy afghan, cozy Socialist. I don’t care how much Mr. Former California-Boy whines. I love this time of year.