Home to Kansas City for a visit! Two weeks of family time and welcoming the newest grandchild. Unadulterated bliss. Well, maybe a little adulterated.
The flight from Fairbanks departed around 1:00 a.m., so it had been a long day by the time I arrived in Kansas City at about 4:00 p.m. A quick ride to Dan’s house to pick up the Rockin’ Ranger, our recently (and cheaply) purchased farm truck. It’s a gold 1999 Ford with 338,000+ miles, four-on-the-floor and all the amenities of a prison cell. The windows don’t work and the suspension is non-existent, but, hey! It’s a ride. I headed out into the country to join many of the kids and grandkids at the Restore Fall Family Festival. Festive, fall-ish and fun, as promised.
When the time came to head to the apartment I realized I was hungry, and decided to treat myself to a much-missed meal from Outback. (So far we haven’t discovered any great restaurants in Fairbanks.) While waiting for my food I realized I didn’t have anything to drink at the apartment, so I asked my server for two large Diet Cokes to go. He happily complied, and it wasn’t until he appeared at my door (not window—non-working, remember?) that it occurred to me that
a) there are no cupholders in 1999 Ford Rangers
b) the take-out bag took-out the entire cab,
c) Said Ranger was a stick.
With one drink wedged between my side and the door and the other clenched between my thighs, the drive to our downtown apartment was…interesting.
Upon arriving I also realized that, besides the huge take-out bag and two (mostly intact) drinks, I had two very large, very heavy suitcases. And a backpack. And three flights of stairs between me and the apartment. I put on my big girl pants and made the necessary five trips up and down, and hooray! I was in.
Beside the prospect of a satisfying (if somewhat cooled) meal, my immediate focus was on the Chiefs game, due to start any minute. I grabbed the remote and hit power, only to realize that the antenna, used for accessing local channels, had somehow gotten packed and stored in preparation for our trip to Alaska. But, hey! There’s still an antenna on the bedroom TV! Less convenient for enjoying my (increasingly cool) meal, but whatever. Off to the bedroom with a TV tray and high expectations. But for some reason, I couldn’t seem to get the channel I was looking for. By this time I’m a teeny, weeny bit annoyed. But knowing my own ineptitude for resolving technical/electronic issues, I did the reasonable thing and called my mechanical engineer husband.
He advised me to move the antenna from the bedroom to the dining room, as it might work better there. Okay, again—not my strong suit, but I managed to get the thing unplugged/disconnected from one TV and headed with my prize to the dining room. Different TV’s, different connections…but with the help of my husband and FaceTime, we prevailed. And what to my wondering eyes did appear but a shot of Arrowhead and my beloved Chiefs. For a tiny, brief second. After which was about twenty seconds of fuzzy interference, followed by twenty to thirty seconds of the game, followed by…yep. You guessed it. And of course the interference occurred at the most strategic times: “And the pass is…GOOD..and he’s…KKKKKWWWWWWSHSHSHSKKKKK.” I ate my (now cold) meal and watched game and interference to the very end—after 11 p.m. And about 21 hours since I began the journey from Fairbanks. But my bendy-bed (aaahhhhhh!) awaits. And to all a good night.*
*Somewhere during that night I rolled over and woke to the sound of the bed remote hitting the floor and exploding into a million pieces. Or fourteen. Not just the battery cover, but even the buttons were scattered like confetti. I did my best to reassemble, to no avail. No more bendy-bed.
And then it was Monday, and I was home in Kansas City. Granted, it was colder there than in Fairbanks—my plan to visit The 14 and revel in fall splendor was going to have to wait for more seasonal weather. But on a positive note, my second attempt at bed-remote repair was successful! Things were looking up.
Bolstered by my achievement, I decided to move the antenna back into the bedroom. One of the things I had been missing was being able to watch the news before retiring for the night, and it worked (sort of) when I’d moved it before, right? I didn’t even call my husband. Until, that is, the confounded thing would not fit back into it’s original spot, no matter how hard I tried. My husband, ever-helpful, did his best to help me—right up until the point when I asked a question and he did that eye-roll-shoulder-drop thing. At that point it was a good thing that we weren’t in the same room. Or state. A very. Good. Thing. After some serious backpedaling he took a close look at the connector in my hand and said…”Oh. There’s a piece of the other TV on it that came off with it…and it’s not going back in either spot.” Welllllllll…great. But I was still in KC and headed to lunch with a friend. All will be well.
Tuesday dawns cold and cloudy, but no matter. Today is the day we welcome our newest grandson to this broken, wonderful world. I manage to find the right hospital but wrong building, enticed as I was by the sign that read “Free Valet Parking”. Somewhat sheepishly (but with perfectly smooth gear changes) I pulled in, and happily surrendered my ride. (Here be several sweet hours of family and excitement and miraculous birth. Enough blessings to last a lifetime.)
Good thing, too. When I finally returned to reclaim the caramel cruiser the attendant set off happily to retrieve it, only to return (on foot) several minutes later with an embarrassed look. He explained that, while he had always meant to learn to drive a stick…ah, well. A five minute walk to the far-reaches of the parking lot and I was on my way. I headed to son Book’s house to swap my classy ride for his currently-unused Nissan Versa. Several steps up—an automatic and even a key fob. Living the dream. I won’t walk you through the whole park-unload-fight with garage door-search for keys-unlock Versa-load Versa-repark truck thing. I made it, and settled happily into my new ride.
You know that sound a car makes when there is absolutely no juice in the battery?…sigh. So…unload Versa-fight with garage door-replace keys…you get the idea. Back on the road in my trusty Ranger. And with a new, healthy, beautiful grandson and new and priceless memories. God is good.
Several more visits with the newest grandson and many of the other kids and grandkids, and another lunch with a friend—happy times. Apart from the few tense moments when, after hearing my story of a funny/embarrassing moment, my friend let out an ear-piercing, fully seven-second-long scream like she was being impaled and convinced everyone in the restaurant that we were all about to die. Moving on.
A few days later we decided to try the whole vehicle switch again, and Book kindly got it jumped and charged and ready to go. I was headed to Liberty, a good 40 minute drive from Book’s house, so we were confident the battery would be good to go from there. Silly us. Jump #2 came from a helpful gentleman waiting for his wife to finish her hair appointment. Mobile once more I headed to O’Reilly’s for a new battery. They determined that the battery was, in fact, kaput and would need to be replaced. Unfortunately they didn’t have the right battery, so sent me on my way (Jump #3) to the AutoZone down the street. They did have the right battery—the end is in sight! Or not. After the requisite wait a mechanic came out to replace the dead battery with the new, living, end-the-madness one. He spent about 30 seconds staring at the engine and then explained that, in order to change the battery the air filter would have to be unhooked, and that was not in his purview. Cue Jump #4.
Poor Book, trying mightily to help resolve this has been on the phone with the dealership, and sends me to Hendrick with clear instructions: they will install the battery I purchased if I can get there within an hour. Tell them he talked to Ashley. And I’d be on my way. He told me approximately where the dealership was located, I plugged it into my trusty GPS and set off. Got there, checked in, referenced the convo with Ashley, and made my way to the waiting area. Where I sat for an hour before the guy said, (as he was walking by on a more important errand) “That battery you bought is not the right one. We don’t have the right one. “ (and the kicker…) “You’d probably do better at Hendrick Nissan.
Uh, wait…what? Turns out there are multiple Hendrick dealerships, some within a mile of each other. And I was at the wrong one. Jump #5 and I was (temporarily) mobile again. A quick call to the right Ashley at the right dealership (yes, they both had Ashleys) revealed that by now it’s too late—their mechanics were gone. Back to Book’s to borrow his other car for the night and return in the morning for one more try. Jump #6, courtesy of Book, got me on my way to the right Hendrick dealership, and two hours later a fully-functional Versa. One more trip to O’Reilly to return the right/wrong battery and I am finally—and happily—on my way. Ah, home. Life is good.
Heart's Desire 