I hope that anyone who stopped by yesterday to read the continuing saga of the Chartier family realized that no news was good news.
I did (miraculously) get my car back later that night so we were able to make it to church/birthday party/other commitments without any inconvenience. The car sounds good, the temperature gauge is sitting happily in-between C and H, just like it should be and my A/C works again. It turns out they had to cut off the top of my radiator, clean it out, then weld it back together. And there was a busted hose somewhere that was leaking fluid into the engine and creating the smoking, burning smell. The one thing that made me laugh when I picked up my car and started it up was this:
Yeah engine, I’ll check you. Two weeks from now.
I’m sure it’s just a computer something or other that needs to be reset after they were poking around in there, but having the light come on after taking the car to be fixed just added to the irony of it all.
I’m thankful I don’t have any stories to tell today. Our weekend has been full of parties and sleepovers, but nothing out of the ordinary. I’m still planning on getting on a plane to head to the US in a little over 2 weeks even though we don’t have tickets yet. Imagine if you had to go to the DMV to take care of all of your health care, your travel arrangements, your paychecks . . . our life is kind of like that. Every now and then we are pleasantly surprised by its efficiency, but this is not one of those times. We’ve been told our travel is approved, but there is a special code that proves there is money to pay for it that hasn’t appeared yet. We’ll just keep waiting . . .
A little mystery: I came in my gate to find all this trash on my front steps and my dog sitting in the middle of it. A McDonald’s bag and wrappers, soda cans, ice cream cups . . . nothing that would have come from our trash can. My only explanation is that my dog got out of the gate and went scavenging around the neighborhood and brought all of this trash home (people just drop trash on the street here, so gross). But really? Soda cans? An intact McDonald’s bag? Yes, my dog is essentially a goat, but did he really trot home with a paper bag in his mouth containing all these “treasures?”
The trash collector and his boy.