new truck!

Yeah, I’m at that point again where I’ve got so many thoughts in my head that each distracts me from the others. There is so much I want to write about, or have written rough thoughts about, to try and sort things out in my mind, but alas, I just keep flitting from one thought to another. Distractions distractions.
And then, there are distractions that aren’t related to my thinking at all, distractions that completely pull me away from the thoughts I want to think. Sometimes these distractions disallow any thought at all. Sometimes they just replace them with more urgent immediacy.
For instance, there is the matter of my truck. You have read enormous bits of rambling concerning the ongoing saga of nursing my Explorer through what probably should have been its last weeks of usefulness. But somehow I’ve managed to turn its last weeks into months and years, delaying its ultimate demise seemingly indefinitely, but lessening its dependability exponentially with each reincarnation of its decaying form. This care and feeding and repairing and replacing has become so much a way of life that it has been only a minimal distraction in the larger ongoing saga of life. In the instances where the distraction was greater, they were at least short lived. To me, that is.
The increasing frequency of Allison’s comments concerning my need for new and dependable transport eventually opened my eyes to a further understanding of the depth of meaning in words used in the art of relational communication by the homogametic half of the relationship. For example, months of hearing, “Rod, you really deserve a truck that is nice and dependable,” and “You are really worth it babe,” and “I’d sure enjoy seeing you in a newer, sexy truck,” were simply taken at face value. My inevitable response was, “Naw baby, that truck is fine for me, I don’t need anything more,” or “It’ll be fine, I’ll get it running again.”
What I eventually began to realize was that the aforementioned phrases spoken through smiling lips should have been translated as, “&*$%@@, if you don’t get a new vehicle immediately, you’re gonna be as pre-owned as your truck is. A girl can only take so much.”

So, as one would expect, this last bout of dead in the driveway syndrome was met with the same phrases through the same smiling lips. This time, however, I was wise to their meaning. We hopped in the operational vehicle and visited some “Pre-owned” car dealerships. After merely two days of shopping, we decided upon a smart little 2003 Explorer Sport Trac (note the hip misspelling of the word “trac(k), a definite plus in the needability of said vehicle). It is not only the nicest vehicle we’ve ever owned, it is the nicest vehicle we’ve ever looked at.
Between Molly’s ‘cello lesson, and church on Wednesday, we zipped into the dealership, did the deed and closed the deal. After church, we went to the gym in the shiny new automobile. On the way home, I glanced at the tripometer and noticed I had driven my new ride a total of 6 miles. Another quarter mile up the road and I heard a gasp from the passenger seat, saw a flash of fur, felt an impact of nose, and heard the thump of either a deer hitting my door, or my heart skipping a beat. Probably both. As Allison continued gasping for breath, I turned the truck around, looked for the deer, who didn’t seem to even slow down upon contacting my new ride, and drove to the Exxon to survey the damage.
Yes, you heard correctly. Six miles into ownership, I had my first deer to door encounter. Mind you I’ve been driving these 26 years with no deer dings. Don’t forget the truck that I replaced, because it is very representative of the vehicles I’ve always driven, none of which would have minded one bit if I’d have hit a deer a day for a decade.
What are the chances of that? Astounding. I can’t express how profoundly astounded I am. Why then? Why not the night before? Why not 2 hours before? Why not any other night in my life?

Great googly moogly.

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