In which we discuss death, among other things

My son Twitch called me. Twitch, who has chronic depression. He called to tell me, among other things, that he hates tourists (he now lives in Charleston, SC, a popular tourist destination) but has told me previously that he loves living in Charleston. He told me he's sure he was born on the wrong planet. The universe made a mistake in placing him here. He hates his life. He wonders if there is a way to remove all the nose hairs from his nose without pain. Why? I ask him. Because they are bugging me, he says. Increase your pain tolerance. I recommend that he not use Nair™ in that sensitive mucous membrane. He wants to live in a place with a low cost of living and excellent public transportation and cultural opportunities. But not on this planet, evidently. It was a whine fest conversation. I said "I gave birth to you on this planet." I wanted to say more, something like STFU!, but all I could do was sigh. Then I hung up on him. I don't have the energy for that shit today.

Warning: I'm about to write about death and suicide. 
Before he called I read an article in The New Yorker by David Sedaris, written about his sister Tiffany's recent suicide. It's a very good article, but then we are talking about David Sedaris who is an excellent writer. Back to Twitch, who is dissatisfied with his life and has been for much of it. And David Sedaris' sister Tiffany who evidently was dissatisfied with her life. I have long feared that Twitch will take that exit ramp from life. Today my brain says to me "What if he does? How will that affect you?" Of course I would be ... what word describes an extreme form of upset? On the other hand, I'd know he was out of the misery of this life. Who was it said something like death is the greatest adventure? Some famous philosopher or something. I have often considered suicide myself, a few times seriously. It's something I think about, abstractly, often. Right now I have decided not to kill myself because I wonder what will happen in my life as I get older. What kind of old lady will I be? I have to live long enough to be an old lady to find out. How old is "old?" Well into my 70s, at least, and probably to my mid to late 80s. 90s? Maybe. Depends on how healthy I am.

While we're speaking of death, I'd like to discuss my father's death. I might have gone through this before in this venue, but I need to rehash it. He died on March 25th of this year. Too early, I thought. But now I think it was right on time. I believe that things happen for a reason most of the time. Also, there isn't anything I can do about it anyway. He's dead and nothing will change that. I miss him. I've been thinking of him more frequently of late. Daddy did not want to "linger" incapacitated and be a burden to his family. After he died I learned that he had begun to lose his mental faculties. He'd become increasingly forgetful in a senile dementia sort of way. His compromised heart and consequent decreased oxygen to the brain might have been a factor there. But it frustrated and frightened him, I know. No, he didn't tell me this, but I know him well enough. I just know. And now he's free of this world's limitations. I am happy for him, I guess. No one knows for sure what if anything comes after this life, but we like to think it's pleasant. If he's in a "better place" then good for him. As for the rest of us, we'll deal. What else is there to do?

I followed a link from a link in a link in an email to this site called Tunein. It's online radio, or something like it. I am currently listening to French programming. Programming in French, though I think not from France itself. If I remember correctly, it originates in Brussels, Belgium. It's talk radio, and I have no idea what they're talking about but it sounds really cool. I know a few French words, and catch some meaning here and there. In the last program the voices said "et cetera" a lot. A few programs ago some ladies were talking about Pre-zee-'dent O-ba-'ma. Right now they're playing some kind of new age-y music featuring lots of bells. Related quote: "New Agers might be whack, but they do make some nice music." - Superman. I'd like to learn French some day. Maybe when I am an old lady.

And speaking of whack, Diva. Let's entertain ourselves with another Diva story. Just today the child was telling us that we need to meet her boyfriend, get the embarrassment over with. Yeah, whatever. She was using Superman's phone to text the guy. Superman took his phone with him to run errands and the alleged boyfriend texted back. Superman asks who this is, and the guy got defensive saying something like wha' chu mean who am I? So Superman said it was his phone, his daughter had been texting. Yada yada, the point is that Diva was communicating with a much older guy (don't know how old) and had told him she was 20 years old (she'll be 16 in about six weeks) and in college, living by herself in her own house. Superman corrected the misinformation. The poor ersatz boyfriend was freaked out about being "played" like that, and assured Superman that he has absolutely no desire to be involved with anyone that young.

Why does she tell lies like that, string innocent people along, legally endangering them? She's whack, obviously, but really. Superman had a talk with her when he got home from running his errands. Then I fussed at her for a while. Don't know if it will make any difference. I asked her if she understands how she could have ruined his life if she'd followed through with her story and gotten physically involved with him. He'd be labeled a sex offender FOR LIFE and wouldn't be able to get much of a job, get housing in very many places, etc. Ruin his life, basically. She stared at me like I was yammering to the wind. Whack, I tell you. (OK, so obviously my word for the day is "whack.") Oh, she also gave him our address. This isn't the first time she'd done shit like this. A couple of years ago I answered a phone call from another guy in his 30s, if I recall correctly, who she was stringing along with lies of this nature. She'd given him our address, too. She has no sense.

Another Diva story, this one not so ... whack. She wanted to have a combination birthday/Halloween party, celebrate her b'day early because it's too cold in early December to have a party outside. The kids had a day off school Friday (teacher workday, end of grading period) so we did the party thing in the pavillion at the local Parks and Rec center. I made a cake. It looked awesome, and tasted so-so. I used box mixes of her desired flavors. I took pictures. (Long side note: I have a new-ish camera because my old one that I knew how to use got dunked with me in the river when I was canoeing with my brothers after my dad's non-funeral party. The new camera has a big square battery reminiscent of a cell phone battery. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to recharge it or replace it. Probably it's rechargeable, but I don't know how to do that. I took a few pictures on Friday before the camera lost power.) Due to the otherwise dark theme of this post, I won't add the pictures now. Also, I haven't downloaded them from the camera yet.

Game 4 of the (small, only North America) World Series is about to start, so I'm outa here. Cards ahead 2 games to 1 over the Red Sox. Boo-yah!

It's all good

Too much time has passed since my last blog post. I want to update more often. The time and a good subject haven't coincided before now. Today, however, I had a blog-worthy experience. 

My dear darling daughter Light was in a stage production of some sort tonight. It was a variety show lip sync thing, the purpose of which is fuzzy to me. It was of course for fun, but there may have been other stated purposes. She wanted me to be there and I arranged to go. 

I set out good and early so that we would have time to hang out before the show. The sun was shining brightly behind me and the clear sky expanded in all directions as I drove my beloved truck, Manny, on the country highway toward college town. I had MP3 tunes in my ears and 300 cubic inches of engine at my command. All was good with the world.

Until the klunk. 

Has that ever happened to you? You're rolling along thinking everthing is copacetic when all of a sudden you hear and feel a powerful change in your plans. 

The engine died and I was coasting down a slight hill. I wrangled the ol' boy into the center turn lane. Power steering must have both steering and power to be power steering. Without power it is an upper body work-out. I stepped on the brake to stop the truck, and he stopped. We can't assume too much in these situations, so stopping when I depress the brake is a good sign. I turned the key, and indeed the engine began firing on all cylinders. So far so good. I pushed in the clutch and put that transmission in first gear. That's when things went south. As I released the clutch and gave him some gas he did nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. There was no movement in the RPM gage. That needle was hugging nuthin'. With the increase in gear engagement, however, we had some impressive klunk*, rattle, and roll. That's "roll" as in "sway," not to be confused with forward movement. 

No first gear, so I tried second gear. No second gear. At that point I decided the best course of action was to get out of the middle of the road. Since I'd stopped the truck and the engine would no longer move the wheels I had to provide movement with my raw Java power. Those of you who have met me know that Java's raw physical power is pretty wimpy.** A nice fellow passing by stopped to help me push Manny into a parking lot. 

Superman and I have been members of AAA auto club since 1984. It says so on my AAA card. Since we frequently drive old cars with comensurately old parts, we have had many occasions to be very glad we have AAA emergency roadside assistance service. I called the AAA help line and before too long a very friendly Bubba came with his awesomely powerful superduty flatbed tow truck to carry Manny back to Greenwood. Technically it seems that the flat bed truck is called a carrier. That's what Google leads me to believe, anyway. 

Once Bubba got Manny onto his carrier bed this is what we saw. It isn't pretty.

This is Manny's rear end. No, really, that's what they call it! It's also known as a differential. It isn't supposed to have that big gash in the middle of that plate. You see it there, with the gash that looks like it was attacked by a rabid can opener? Yeah. That explains the klunk and jerk, doesn't it?

Believe it or not, that's a good sight to see under the circumstances. I thought the problem was in the tranny. Yep, that's what they call it. Otherwise known as a transmission.  But since the problem is obviously in the differential, that is much better than having a wrecked transmission. 

Here, let me show you:

On the left is the differential. It is a complicated compilation of gears and associated machined parts. And below is a cut-away image of a transmission. Do you see how much more complicated that sucker is? In Auto Mechanic-ese, complicated = very expensive. The transmission is also more difficult to access. It's located under the front of the car, behind the engine, in the center of the underbelly of the vehicle aproximately even with the dashboard. The differential, centered between the two back wheels, is much easier to access. In Auto Mechanic-ese, "easier to access" = expensive, but not as expensive as "hard to access." Let's face it: in Auto Mechanic-ese, handing the mechanic your car keys = expensive. 

But you know what? It's all good. I had my cell phone and was able to call Light to tell her I couldn't make it, to call Superman and give him the news, and to call AAA to get a tow back to town. The wind was pretty cold out there in the parking lot, but inside my beloved truck with the sun shining low through the windows I was very comfortable. I had my big 52 ounce mug of ice water with me. The hour or so I spent in the truck was an opportunity to clean out the trash. I filled two plastic grocery bags with the trash from my back floorboard. I found my road atlas, too. And I finally found the match to that garden glove that's been in my console box for 2 years. It was an adventure in discovery, actually, but some of the stuff I found is just a little bit TMI for me to post. 

I am sorry that I missed Light's performance and the rest of the show which I understand was side-splittingly funny. But over all I think the evening went pretty well. It's all good.

* A "klunk" is worse than a "clunk." Trust me.

** My awesome Java powers are primarily emotional in nature.