… driving other people’s cars.
Last weekend, Clarissa (that’s our little black hatchback Focus, in case you weren’t on a first-name basis with her) began to sputter a little bit. J was already en route to Hilton Head with the Fall Break folks, and Clarissa began to sound like she had a cold. It’s Kentucky, so we all sound a bit like that right now, but this sounded different.
By Saturday night, she wouldn’t start at all, and I had to borrow A’s car to go help out a friend with babysitting duties. (In case you were curious, his car’s name is Maggie.)
Sunday bright and early, I e-mailed everyone I could think of who might possibly have an extra car available, realizing that if I didn’t find one soon, I’d be out of luck come Monday morning (and, little did I know, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings).
Walking into Sunday school a few short hours later, I was greeted with “You can borrow my car” from a woman in my writing group. Really? That fast? Yep. That fast. Car taken care of for Monday. Check.
By mid-Monday we realized we’d need to borrow for longer than a day, and J remembered Pearl. Pearl is the name of one of our dear friend’s cars, and that dear friend is out of town on sabbatical. Hooray for us. Permission to drive Pearl for as long as we needed.
In the meantime, I received three more phone calls of folks offering spare cars to me. Three! And one of them a sports car. For real!
Isn’t that amazing? Yes. It is.
Sometimes I just sit back and think, “Golly gee, Beav. This town’s terrific.”