I am up early. Of course I am. Is there a day during the teaching week when this is not so? I look outside. Ohhhh... pretty! I throw on a bathrobe and go to the twelfth floor. The view from there is sublime. Madison at sunrise.
I have not tweaked the colors: they are authentic and true.
I watch and breathe deeply, somewhat in rhythm with a Grieg piece, honoring morning...
Only after a minute or so do I notice that there is someone behind me. Another condo person who rises early and eats his cereal up here on the terrace, watching the sun break through.
Sorry about my attire... I mumble.
No need to be sorry.
We watch in silence.
It is late afternoon. My three classes are wrapped and tucked away. I am about to set out to meet with Sarah, the holder of the Saab keys.
I know. It’s Saab the sob: the car that not only knows how to fail, but also cannot get up on its feet again after a failure. (The story from one of the commenters here was frightening: six months to fix the damn thing??)
But Ed is somewhat intrigued by the Saab. I get the feeling that it’s not unlike the vintage BMW motorcycles that grabbed his attention some decades ago: here are these nearly defunct machines that could continue to serve if only someone could figure out how to keep their engines running. He tells me – if you want to give it a try, we can try to figure out what’ ailing this particular machine...
And so I tell Sarah the Saab seller that we’ll take another shot at it. She, of course, reassures us that the problem has been fixed. We don’t believe that for a minute, but we’re willing to give it another go.
But an hour before the scheduled meeting and transfer of ownership Sarah writes to tell me that the engine has died again.
Two strikes.
We should walk away for sure now, no? The sellers have lost all credibility: the car is completely unreliable!
Eh, so what. Life is an adventure. Figuring out how to make a beautiful chandelier give light makes sense to me. The Saab (oh, if you only could see it!) is beautiful. It should not be allowed to retire. We’ll give it another chance. Maybe.
I'll at least think about it.
(from my office window)
