Hello, my dearest friends. I’ve missed you. I have not missed the computer, TV or incessant phone ringing, but I have missed the connection, no matter how electronic, I have to my friends in the blog o’sphere.
For instance, my sister is getting married. Her colors are white, black and pink. I’m in charge of helping her find a wedding site and thinking of decorations. When I linked back in to the world of blogging friends, what did I find? My decorating guru had worked her magic on a wedding and posted pictures.
Check off one item on the list of things I should be doing but am avoiding. See, friends? Avoidance works.
Another way it works: on the car trip home from our mega-visit to family on the other side of the Rockies, our check engine light turned on. Outside of Rock Springs, Wyoming. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of touring, by car, that great state of Wyoming, but let me tell you, it is not the place to stop just for fun. In fact, we try not to stop at all. So how did we handle the check engine light? By ignoring it, of course. Now, I don’t recommend this practice in general. But we knew the oil was full and the coolant recently topped-off, so what else could possibly be wrong? And what was the result? The light turned off all by itself. Like magic. When the demon that is our car realized it could not force us to spend extra time in the land of manure and sage brush, it gave up that battle in defeat. I’m sure it’s plotting a new strategy. The constant beeping because it thinks the emergency brake is on can be overcome by turning the radio up louder. The door-light that mysteriously turns on can be ignored, mostly. The fuel gauge that never gets to full can be monitored by time (I know it takes about a week to use a whole tank of gas driving the way I normally drive.) I’m waiting for the car to figure out how to randomly eject the driver, or how to fill the car with noxious fumes.
We need a new car. This most recent car trip settled it. We had all 4 kids, suitcases, loveys, food, drinks, portable DVD players, booster seats, car seats, DS games, etc, piled into the car. There was room to breathe, but only by taking turns. We need a car that can hold our gear, our kids, their friends. We need a car that has a window that divides me, the driver, from them, the screaming noisemakers. We need a car that is it’s own drive-thru so we don’t have to stop in Wyoming for food.
Unfortunately, the cars that fit the above list also destroy the entire world. Yukons, Suburbans, Expeditions--these are what we have on the list. I can’t commit. Buying the minivan was bad enough, but going Texas big on a car? I’ll have to buy a cat-o’nine-tails and do penance for the rest of my life.
I haven’t yet seen a friend blog about her car guilt. Am I the only one who has this dual need: the need to fit comfortably in a car and the need to breathe oxygen? I can’t believe I’m so far removed from everyone else. It must be a conspiracy of silence. So, please, break the silence and help me figure out what to do. Before it’s too late. I hear my minivan honking in derision as we speak.