Left My Water Pump In PA
On the off ramp waiting for the light to change a man driving up the on ramp alarmingly gestured that I was leaking antifreeze. I nodded and started to make the left but Bernadette told me the light was still red. I waited for the light to turn green, made the left and then the first right and parked under a big floppy-leafed shade tree in Hellertown, PA. Bernadette and I exited the vehicle and the leaves overhead were like damp green washcloths mopping away from our brows any worry. We would live under the shade tree, abandoning at least temporarily any other plans that threatened to inhibit our new found good fortune.
In short time, recovering from ill-conceived and unrealistic expectations regarding life under shade trees, and inspired in part by the need for slow cooked, heavily rubbed, fat juicy baby-back pork ribs and ice cold bottled beer, I called the Adman and sang to him a song I have been working on--I Left My Water Pump in PA. He lacks the necessary tools to understand my musical genius but offered to come pick us up and also gave me the number of a mechanic in his area who does towing. The shade tree we had contemplated living under was four hours from our starting point and 30 minutes from the Adman's barbecue grill.
Bernadette was meanwhile around the corner at the station formerly known as Esso. Even with a hard-earned, paid for walk-up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan I don't think she has ever considered herself one of the rich until a pimply faced, butt-smoking, teenage employee on break tagged her with the greeting, uh oh, rich person in trouble. She forgave him the crude greeting and extracted as much useful information as the young man was capable of providing. If we could only wait until 10p.m. this very youngster himself might be able to look into our situation.
Bernadette was reporting this to me after I reported to her that the Adman was in transit, that our overnight journey from Virginia solely inspired by our desire for Cuisine du Adman, would not be very much interrupted. To sweeten that pot which had us driving four and a half hours for a meal was the added attendance of Adman's brother, Hector, a good friend and dabbler of real estate who does not live in New York and did not graduate from Lehigh University.
Leaving the driveway here at Mt. Pleasant Bernadette and I had discussed the many meanings of a vehicle's Check Engine light. I was, for those purposes that had us eating ribs and drinking cold beer with good friends, deciding to interpret the engine light in one of its lesser connotations. A glitch. Or an electronic misinterpretation. Bernadette was with me on this but we both knew, even as we have so little experience with it, that we could be wrong. When a mile later she further considered our potentially dire future as rib-seeking travelers, I became a little testy and suggested that our only two options are turning back, or going forward with as little mention of dire consequences as possible. Based on a life well seasoned with questionable vehicular judgment I have trained myself to never leave home without expectation of breakdown. When I notice my worried knuckles turning white from their fierce grip on the steering wheel, as they anticipate any number of horrific mishaps, I remind myself that it is better to save your energy for the actual handling of a mishap and not to waste time stressing over that which has not yet happened.
While we waited under the shade tree we counted our blessings, talked briefly to a passing policeman, and considered from a distance the rather impressive butt cleavage of a gym short wearing man tooling around in his back yard across the street.
Winding along back roads near the Delaware River Adman said I bet you can taste that cold beer.
View current page
...more recent posts