Fa La la!
This year I’m getting brakes for Christmas. It’s not quite a lump of coal, but it feels like it.
One of the problems of driving an aging car is that these things happen; and these things happen at the most inconvenient times.
The other day the brakes felt wooshy jittery and I suspected that the mechanic and I would be having a date soon. I prayed, loudly, with incense and much lamentation, for our date to occur in January.
No such luck.
We’re having uncommon snow and cold this December with a storm expected in later tonight. My inner adult sqaubbled with my inner child and persuaded her that the pleasure of working brakes was indeed greater than the pleasure of giving gifts. It’s ever so nice to be able to stop the car especially when icy roads send it into a spin.
I can’t remember what it was last year, but early December found me plunking down a significant amount of cash for some sort of car repair. Perhaps this is a new holiday tradition.
Car repairs seem to arrive in my life when I can least afford them. One year, I took the broken regularator from a 1980 Honda Accord, painted it pink, slapped a flower decal on it, hung it from a green card and told my mother it was her Mother’s Day gift. She was amused.
We’ll see what she thinks of decopauged book ends made of brake rotors. On second thought, they would make a better gift for my dad. Perhaps Mom will like placemats made out of worn out brake pads. (What do brake pads look like? Coasters, maybe? Dresser doily?)
Fa La La!
[Dear Santa, next year I want a new Subaru.]
Edited to add: I went and picked up the car. Paid heaps of money. And then…AND THEN caused quite a stir when I asked for my rotors. “Your what, ma’am?” I want my rotors. “Um, sure.” Next thing I know the manager arrives asking me what he can do to help. I tell him nothing that I’m fine. “I thought there was a problem.” Um, no. I don’t thinks so. “You were asking about your rotors?” Yes, I want them. I’m going to paint them a glossy black, paint my father’s monogram on them, and give them to him for Christmas. “Oh.”
W. Va. Fur and Root 
i love rusty metal. i have a small bowl full of rusty odds n’ ends.
Do you now? Hmmm. I must keep that in mind.
Our car also got a Christmas present in the form of fuel line and fuel injectors and transmission fluid.
On the other hand, it can actually go up mountains now. That’s good, right?
Absolutely. I was tickled when the brakes did stop the skid on today’s ice. (Snow, maybe big snow, due tonight.)
being all grown up and shit just sucks sweaty prison balls, huh? i want to be a kid again and let someone else take care of the dull domestic duties!!
It does suck, but I’ve thrown financial prudence out the door into a snow bank and hunted and gathered to the point where I’m pleased with the gifts I’ll give. Come January I’ll fret about how to pay the electric bill.
This time of year, especially, I miss being a child and I miss having a small child all wide-eyed and excited. In sorting out the closet I ran across a Christmas card my son made in second grade. I cried smiley tears. I’ll probably blog about it tommorw.