On the Road Again

The title of this post would suggest that I’m off on a road trip somewhere. Though the reality is a little more mundane, it is no less exciting to me. If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have seen my complaints about being without a car for the past few weeks as my car has been in the shop. My poor little car, which had been sickly since the first week of June, was finally returned to me last night, practically as good as new. I am ecstatic!

The saga of my car goes back beyond June, way back to spring of last year. I noticed a miss in the engine. Sometimes, when I pushed on the gas, it seemed to take a while for the engine to respond, and I could hear the miss when the engine was idling. I was afraid it was something very serious and very expensive to repair. I didn’t have the money for car repairs, so I kept driving it, just waiting for it to decide not to go any further. A friend diagnosed it as a bad fuel injector in the sixth cylinder, and I hoped and prayed that was all it was, since it wouldn’t be nearly as expensive to repair as something like a blown head gasket.

So, I drove the car for over a year with the miss getting worse and worse until the car was rattling all over because of it. In March of this year, the car stopped right in the middle of the road, just two miles from home, at the end of a 300-mile trip. I was so thankful it waited until we were close to home before dying on me. The diagnosis at that time was a corroded battery cable and a bad clutch, in addition to the miss. After a week in the shop, the car was driving much better, except for the miss, which still needed to be addressed, but which I still didn’t have the funds to have repaired.

In June, while Sam and I were in Atlanta, the clutch started feeling stiff, and sometimes when I had it pushed down, the transmission still wouldn’t go in or out of gear. I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it back home! When we got home, I kept the car parked as much as possible until I could get it back in the shop. Unfortunately, the clutch that was put in earlier this year was defective. (It was an after-market clutch because, apparently, Ford no longer supplies the clutch for my car since it is 15 years old now.) They said when they took it off, it broke into several pieces. Actually, they said it “exploded” into several pieces. When they took it back to the parts store, they were able to have it replaced free of charge because it was still in the 90-day warranty period…by ONE day! Since the part was obviously defective, they talked to the store manager about covering the cost of labor and the other parts that had to be replaced because they had been damaged by the bad clutch. The manager said that in order to cover all the costs, the part would have to be sent to their headquarters and put through extensive testing, and it would take 12-14 weeks to receive a check. I couldn’t wait that long to have my car fixed, and I couldn’t pay all the costs up front and get reimbursed that far down the road, so I opted to accept a check from the parts store for about 65% of the labor costs. It was better than nothing!

When the mechanics got the clutch replaced, they said they wouldn’t guarantee their work if my car went out of their shop with that bad miss not repaired. They explained that the rattling from the miss could tear up a good clutch, and it probably caused the defective clutch to go out sooner. (It was a good thing in the case of the bad clutch since it would not have still been under warranty just two days later.) So, my car was held hostage until I could come up with the money to get the additional work done. It ended up not being as expensive as I had feared, and now my baby is almost as good as new. Now, when Sam and I hit the road again, I won’t have to worry as much about whether we’ll be able to make it back home or not.

I’m Not Flipping You Off

In yesterday’s post, I told about how I cut a gash into one of my fingers while slicing tomatoes. Let me tell you…it hurts today, even more so than yesterday!

Last night, I finally got Sam to look at it, and he was shocked at how bad it was, but he had to make a joke and tell me to stop flipping him off…hence the title of this post. He said he was surprised I had cut my finger so badly because I haven’t done anything like that in a long time. And, he was right. As clutzy as I am, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done such a number to myself. I think in my old age I’m becoming more cautious.

I couldn’t find any bandaids, so I made a makeshift bandage for it last night with tissue and packing tape. Not only was it not attractive, it was also bulky and cumbersome. The bandage made it almost impossible for me to use that finger, and being on my middle finger, it made it difficult to use my whole hand. So, a little earlier today, I took the bandage off because it was bothering me, and it appeared that my finger hadn’t bled in a while. It sure did make typing easier! After a while, though, I noticed that my keyboard was feeling sticky. I looked down and saw that my finger was bleeding again and dripping blood all over my laptop. YUCK! I had to clean my finger (and my whole hand), re-bandage my finger, and clean my my laptop. What a mess!

Fried Green Tomatoes

Although I was born up north (South Bend, IN, to be exact), my family moved to Georgia when I was five years old, and I immediately embraced the Southern culture. When we went back to Indiana for a visit (actually, it was for a cardiology appointment for me) a few months after our move, everyone made fun of my new Southern accent. Over the years, it has become stronger until I no longer have any trace of Northern in my speech.

Besides my accent, the next biggest effect the South has had on me is in my cooking. I am a pro at Southern cooking. In fact, I wouldn’t be afraid to take on Paula Deen herself. Today, I made a great Southern tradition — fried green tomatoes, and boy, were they good! I thought about posting my recipe here for all my non-Southern friends, but I don’t really cook by recipes, so it would be vague, with phrases like, “a little of…,” “a pinch of…,” and so forth. If you really want to know how I make them, you can ask, and I’ll do my best to give you a recipe you can follow.

True to my nature, this venture was not without incident…or accident. Since I’m not great at slicing tomatoes evenly and thinly, I opted to use my mandolin slicer. Along with the mandolin, there is a hand guard to hold the food and keep your fingers away from the blades. I thought about using it, but I reminded myself that I’ve used the mandolin several times before, each time without bothering with the guard, with never so much as a scratch. Almost immediately after having that conversation with myself, my hand slipped, and I sliced my middle finger badly. (Pride goeth before a fall, huh?)

I had barely begun slicing the tomatoes, so the rest of the project had to be done almost entirely with my left hand. The thing is, I’m not merely right-hand dominant; I can barely do anything at all with my left hand. Thankfully, there were no more incidents, which is probably due to the extreme care necessitated by using my left hand. The fried green tomatoes turned out beautiful and delicious!

As for my finger, it’s still in quite a bit of pain, and it’s making typing difficult. I told Sam I thought I might need to go get it checked, and his response was, “You just sliced your finger. You don’t need to go to the doctor.” That was his “professional” opinion even though he never even looked at it. I think I’ll take his advice, though, and doctor it at home. I have it tightly bound with a bandage right now to keep the gash closed, and I will change the bandage whenever this one gets wet or bleeds through. Uggghhhh…. I hate being so clutzy!

Domestic Goddess

Yes, the title is referring to me. I have been a domestic goddess today. One of the first things I did today was to bake a loaf of banana bread. I had some bananas that were at the point of needing to be used in something or thrown away, and I’m not one to throw away food. Sam wasn’t thrilled at the thought of banana bread without nuts, but I couldn’t go to the store to get some because I’m still without transportation. I guess that leaves more for me! Since there is no way I can (or should) eat an entire loaf of banana bread, I think I will give some to the old man next door.

Speaking of whom… You may recall the article I wrote about him some time back. He used to be mean and spiteful, but he suddenly changed, apologized for his former behavior, and vowed to be a much better neighbor from now. He’s kept his promise, too. He’s actually kind and neighborly now. This afternoon, he came to my door with a huge bag of frozen mulberries. He said he tried to eat some of them but couldn’t stand the way the seeds got stuck under his dentures and wondered if I’d like them. I told him yes and thanks and that I thought they would make a good cobbler. He assured me they would make an excellent cobbler. So, as soon as I got them into the kitchen, I took out about two cups of berries and made a wonderful cobbler. I still have way over half of the berries left, and I’m thinking of ways to use them. If I knew how to make jam, that’s what I’d do with most of them. I think I might have to research that online…

While the cobbler was in the oven, I made limeade from some fresh-squeezed limes. Limeade is something I make every summer, but I think today’s was the best I’ve ever made. I don’t mean to be bragging on myself…it must have been the good limes.

In the picture above is a slice of my banana bread and a glass of limeade. Here is a picture of the fabulous mulberry cobbler:

Am I making you jealous yet?

 

Hiking

Most people who know me don’t know that I was born with two heart defects. That’s because I’ve always tried to stay active, and I’ve not used my defects as an excuse to not do anything. One of my defects is called Ebstein’s Anomaly, and it is quite rare. It has been known to be the cause of a young athlete’s sudden collapse (or even death) on the court or field. Even so, my cardiologist recommends that I stay active and limits me in only two areas: no running and no inclines.

I’m pretty stubborn and do pretty much whatever I want to do, but running is not one of those things. I’ve always wanted to run, but my heart problems have held me back. As a child, I would dream of running on the playground, but in real life I wasn’t able to run much at all.

As for inclines…those have never stopped me. When I was in college, I wouldn’t have gotten to class on time if I had relied on elevators and avoided the stairs. Also, I have loved hiking ever since I was a little girl. There’s nothing quite like getting to the top of a mountain (or, in these parts, hills they call mountains) and looking back down to where you started. The past several years I have hiked very little, and I didn’t realize how out of condition I had become until a couple nights ago. There is a road near my apartment that goes straight up hill. I have walked partway up it several times, but Thursday night I walked all the way to the top. Although I was panting by the time I got up there, I was quite proud of myself. Tonight was when the achiness really set in, though. As I was doing my usual walking tonight, I felt the burn in muscles I had forgotten I had.

In order to reach my ultimate goal, I’m going to have to start hiking more and walking up that steep road more often. From now on, though, I don’t think I’ll walk up it at night because it’s a scary hill to come down in the dark.

Not Quite So Perfect

My mom was the most perfect person I ever met, and she held up a high standard that she expected others to meet. Her sisters nicknamed her “Perfect Pat”, and my Aunt Kitty (Mom’s younger sister) and I have often talked about how hard it was growing up under her shadow of perfection.

This past week, at my Uncle Layne’s funeral, a subject of conversation came up which happened to highlight one of Mom’s few flaws. That perfect mother of mine would become a veritable monster anytime she had a hairbrush in her hand! She didn’t know how to gently comb out tangles. She would rip that brush through your hair so hard that you expected to see large chunks of hair, scalp attached, hanging from the brush. If you moved or squirmed at all, she would whack you over the head with the brush. To this day, I don’t care for anyone to mess with my hair because of the trauma I experienced as a child. I’m sure Kitty and my cousins Dottie, Brenda, and Benita can all attest to the veracity of my claims.

My younger cousins couldn’t believe that Aunt Pat was ever so vicious, and it made for an interlude of laughter amidst a somber occasion. As for me, it’s helpful to remember that even Mom had a flaw or two, so maybe I shouldn’t always be quite so hard on myself.

I Sure Miss You

My cousin Lea’s husband Matt sang this song at my Uncle Layne’s funeral yesterday and did a beautiful job. (In fact, I liked his version of it better than this one.) I want to dedicate this post and this song to my mom first, and then to her three brothers: Layne, Curt, and Randy; as well as to her parents, my dad’s mom, and my dad’s two brothers: Neil and Jimmy; and my cousin Stoney. I love and miss them all, and I am looking forward to the day when I will see them all in Heaven.

My Heart Doesn’t Have a Brain

The title of this post probably sounds like an odd thing to say, but it’s true. What I mean is that when we use our hearts to make decisions, we sometimes end up doing very stupid things. Well, at least that’s the way it is with me. My heart decides it wants something, and my brain tries using logic and reasoning to dissuade me, but sometimes it just doesn’t matter. The heart wants to do what the heart wants to do.

Take yesterday, for example… My heart decided I should pay a visit on an old friend. My brain was going crazy, saying, “NO! Don’t do it! It’s a bad idea! No, no, no! Don’t…. Awwww, dangit, she did it!” Yep, I did, and it took every ounce of courage I had to knock on that door. While I was standing there waiting for it to open, I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest, and my brain was saying, “I told you this was a bad idea…no way it’s going to end well!” (My brain can be such a party pooper!)

As the door opened, I had to remind myself to keep breathing, and my brain was struggling with what to say. But…the face in the door way wasn’t the one I was expecting. It was the familiar, smiling face of my friend’s father. I was simultaneously disappointed and relieved. In the many, many years since I had last stood at that door, some changes had taken place. My friend moved out, and the parents moved in. Although I was disappointed, my visit at the once-familiar home probably went a little better than it would have had the original occupant still lived there.

I think if I start listening to my brain more and my heart less, I’ll have less stress and fewer disappointments. So, yeah, that’s my new plan.

Music Post

It’s been a while since my last music post. Tonight, the music is from Iris DeMent. I stumbled across these two songs on youtube earlier this week. The first one is just kind of cute, and the second one is a duet with James Taylor, who is one of my favorites.

J. Layne Tackett

I had a post all written out for today, but I changed my mind when I got the news last night that my Uncle Layne had passed away. Layne was Mom’s oldest brother, whom she loved very much. Layne went into the Army out of high school, so he ended up going to college with Mom at Moorehead State College (now Moorehead State University). Layne was an educator, like Mom. He taught at Pikeville High School and Pikeville College (now University of Pikeville) and was the principal at Pikeville Elementary School. He was a brilliant man who was also very, very kind and quick to laugh. Whenever I picture him in my mind, he is always laughing. He had a charming way about him that made everyone love him, and he will be missed by many. I didn’t know Layne as well as I would have liked. My family always lived away from Pikeville, and our visits were always short. One thing I always knew, though, was that my Uncle Layne loved me, and I loved him, too.