Friday, November 19, 2004

The weekday morning's excitement is usually limited to whether I'll cut myself shaving while I'm showering. You know. Little nick while I'm standing with my back to the showerhead. Trickle of blood washing down the length of the tub... A little "Psycho" shower scene to quicken the morning pulse.
This morning brought an altogether different surprise. The always-impressive daughter got in the car. I dumped my attache in the back seat, jumped in the front seat, started the Camry, and drove off. Well, sort of drove off. The left rear side of the car had a soft tilt to it. Jumped out and went to the rear of the car. Tire was dead. An 8 inch slash right through the sidewall!
I felt violated. If anyone out there has been burgled, you'll know what I mean. The theft of any items is a passing thing; the violation you feel of your home being entered without your permission is a feeling that stays with you for a while. Especially if you live in a city. All those houses/apartments sitting tightly together. Why yours? Our street is a quiet, wooded, friendly little enclave in a city. Vandalism just doesn't occur here. There are quite a few cops and firemen who live in our neighborhood, so a sense of security blankets our 8-10 city blocks.
The always-impressive daughter was watching for my reaction. She loves this neighborhood (see Barrel of Manque for filler info). My reaction would affect her perception of her home and street.So, throwing some Croatian bon mots to the wind, I proceeded to empty the trunk to get out the spare tire (Note to self: After cataloging the books and cd's, organize this trunk! License plates from 1980 need not be kept. Empty oil cans do not an heirloom make). Twelve minutes later, we were back on the road. The always-impressive daughter was...impressed. 12 minutes! And the old man pulled off the quick change without throwing out his back or or weaving a tapestry of curses for all of the neighborhood to hear (Note to self: It's an asset to speak an esoteric language). Delivery to school on time. Arrival to work on time. All in all, good results from bad beginnings.
Now, how to get rid of that sense of violation?

What a lousy thing to wake up to! Excellent recovery, however - your daughter's admiration was well-merited. As for that "violation" stuff, 12 minutes of duking it out with the heavy bag helps.
Just 12 minutes? You must have a high tolerance for your fellow man. As far as my always-impressive daughter goes, a line copped from Loudon Wainwright's "A Sister & a Brother" explains my need to minimize the psychic damage.
Because "her love is pure".
Actually, anything past 12 and the bag ends up the winner.
I'm impressed by the 12 minutes, the keeping a check on the language (Croatian bon mots not withstanding), and the positive messages these two give to the always-impressed daughter. She can bad-mouth her neighborhood, though she wouldnt, but we certainly can't. It's important to view it as an isolated, punkish incident, at least for her benefit!
Thanks for the reference to the earlier blog, too. I wondered why I'd not seen it before (we flew over the pond on the 14th). What a clear message to anyone who was listening--or should have been. We're glad you were moo-ed out as we'd never have had the pleasure had you been allowed to make the barrel a permanent domicile... Teta
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