Barb’s Burblings

Last Labor Day was when I had my kidney stone. That was not fun.

Minus the kidney stone, I had a similar weekend planned for this year’s Labor Day–going to the movies, having dinner with a friend, and heading up to my grandmother’s on Sunday. My mom was in town, so I could see both of them. And it was going OK, until I got close to the exit for the Harbor Tunnel, when the check engine lights came on. I was near my dealer, so I went there. Service was closed, but the guys there thought I’d be OK to make it to tomorrow, and just bring it back then. I kept going to my grandmother’s. When I was getting off at my grandmother’s exit, the emergency brake light came on and the car started making a high-pitched noise…and then, a half mile later, the gas pedal stopped working. I pulled over and restarted the car, and made it to my grandmother’s, but it was doing it again by that point. I had AAA tow my car back to the dealer and my mom drove me home.

I got home and picked up the letter I got about a recall for my car, and cross-referenced it with what had happened, and, happily, it matched up. Apparently the brake light and noise were the signs from my car that it was about to quit on me. When I talked to the dealership this morning, they confirmed that it was the water pump, which was covered by the recall. YAY! I had been so worried at having to fork over thousands of dollars. I did have to fork over some money–I needed a new battery (the regular kind, not the hybrid one, and seeing how I’ve had Seth 7 years, this wasn’t a surprise), and wiper blades, and an oil gasket something something. But I can afford the few hundred dollars a lot easier than a few thousand. Phew.

(Also, I had spent Friday and Saturday cleaning my apartment. And because my mom drove me home from my grandmother’s, she got to see my apartment at the Exact Right Time. Perfect! Now I can pretend my apartment is ALWAYS clean.) (Mom, pretend you didn’t read that. My apartment IS always perfectly clean.)

Anyway, now I have a fear of Labor Day weekend. Or, the Sunday of Labor Day. Next year, I may just stay in my apartment, hiding in bed.