cars make me nervous. i hate when any kind of light appears on my dashboard panel.. even if it's just the seatbelt light... but i like how, when i start the car, all the lights flash merrily on at once... and then go off... i especially like when they all go off... so...

about halfway down to mom's on saturday... i'm shouting along with the shirelles... EACH NIGHT BEFORE YOU GO TO BED, MY BABY... WHISPER A LITTLE PRAYER FOR ME, MY BABY...

AND TE - ELL ALL THE STARS ABOVE....

o hell... orange light...

now... next to the seatbelt light... this should be the least frightful warning... just change the damn oil when you get around to it... except i did that merely two months and three hundred miles ago...

so i worried my way to the next gas station/mini-mart (which, by the way, did not offer motor oil among its vast stock of goods for sale - five or six brands of Big Red's Jerky, a thousand gaudy keychains, plenty of chips and beverages... not a drop of good old 10-30... but i am foolish... why would anyone ever want MOTOR OIL at a gas station on the interstate? yet, i digress...), popped the hood, capably extracted the dipstick, wiped it off, efficiently re-inserted dipstick, and discovered a full supply... my well-trained eye also noted that said oil was no muddy black goo but a nice, sparkly clean amber... so... what's the problem... something electrical... something computational... no doubt.... so i drove on... eyeing the temp gauge now and then... which stood resolutely just a hair over 200º F... no problem...

this morning meg called kenny's marathon station in petersburg, il and asked if he'd look at it... so i brought it over and the good-natured guy in the office (not kenny) checked it out and re-set the thingamajig while i squeegeed bird poop off my windows... and he didn't charge a thing.. so next time yr in petersburg, stop by kenny's marathon gas station and give him some business... he's got motor oil, too... i checked.

sorry.. not too many pictures here... want more? go here >>>

It is wise to apply the oil of refined politeness to the mechanism of friendship.

Colette

 

talk to me

brtom.org