Our march to spring takes a little March pause today. Sunny, but cold. Puddles froze overnight. No matter. I give them two days to melt into mud once again.
(There is still snow on the farmette lands -- just less of it. Lots of bare spots.)
Breakfast, after I greet the chicks. They look like they're growing!
(good morning Rosie, Cherry and Uni -- did I get the names right, Snowdrop?)
Then I basically go blind to the world. I mean, I have my long overdue eye check and you know how that goes -- many drops cloud your eyes so that by the time you leave you can see absolutely nothing with any clarity whatsoever. That you should be set loose to drive yourself home afterwards does not seem right. Especially on a bright sunny day. It's a good thing that I know my way home with eyes closed because they may as well be closed.
And don't you think that this is just about the best possible moment in your life to go ahead and purchase a new car? When you can't see anything? And you don't want to spend any time inside any dealer's showroom because, you know, there's a pandemic raging across our planet right now?
The car purchase issue has been on my mind for a while now. After much misery with working through the problems in my rusty old Mazda, I had decided weeks ago that it's time for a change. And last week, I actually "bought" a car. Without any visit to any dealer, without even seeing any car at all, I made a deal with a car sales guy over the phone. To be finalized on or before March 1st. Oh, Ed and I had many discussions as to whether this was a good strategy. The old Mazda can keep going probably for a while longer, but each repair has been more costly than the previous one and, too, if the car breaks down on me, then selling it would be a challenge. And finally, you don't see interest rates like these very often: 0.9%. I mean, really?
And so toward noon, Ed dropped me off at the dealer's and the tortuous process of purchasing a car -- one that I could only sort of kind of see, what with my impaired vision -- began.
You'd think that it would be easy and fun. After all, I had negotiated the model, even the actual car, rolling off the delivery truck just last Friday, certainly the price.
It was not fun, it was not easy. I had to go into the showroom constantly (double masked) to attend to various stuff, sanitizing my hands obsessively as papers were passed to me for review. In between signings and elbow bumps, I waited outside -- on this one cold day of the week, and as I looked over this piece of new machinery I tried to feel the joy you're supposed to feel when you hand over a sizeable chunk of your income in exchange for a tangible good. I even gave the new car a name -- Blue Moon, because, well, it's blue and the purchase by me of this and any car at all happens once in a blue moon. Like maybe every fifteen years, or maybe never again, given my age.
In a sense, everything was smooth enough. Everyone was nice, everyone was polite, tolerating my desire not to sit anywhere or linger inside or touch anything there. And the car -- well, it's really lovely and its functionality is perfect: big enough to fill with a pack of kids in the back seat, but only two inches wider than my current Mazda, so it should fit in nicely into the parking space at the end of the driveway.
But at the close of three hours, as I got into this very nice car, I thought -- this can't be mine. I don't belong in new cars. I can't appreciate them because they don't matter that much to me. In the end, it's just a car. And, too, I let myself be conned into adding on a rustproofing guarantee (for 7 years!) just because my past two (used) cars were so rusted through that I craved a protection against road salt. They knew my vulnerabilities! They called it a fancy name (environmental something or other), zapped on a nice price for it and promised that if ever even a hint of rust or paint fade or bug stain or anything threatened the car's exterior, I could just bring it in and puff! They would magically mend it.
Ed straightened me out properly on that one. As I later told him about it, he reminded me what I already knew: insurance, warranty, promise -- loaded words, banking on the susceptibility of the foolish and the weak.
They wouldn't have sold it to you if they thought you would actually need to use it....
I know Ed, I know.
Still, let's be positive about the whole messy day: the eyes will clear eventually. the car is lovely and it will protect me and my loved ones better (all those safety features!), and tomorrow, spring-like weather will return.
From Ed: Be sure to read the informational materials, gorgeous. (He knows me too well.)
(Evening walk by Lake Waubesa: still a tad wintry)
