Where is Santa’s Sleigh when I need it Dec. 18, 2023

  

Leave it to happen around the holidays again.

My car is acting up, most likely water in the gas – even from previously respectable gas stations, although in the past, similar issues have meant more serious repairs.

The engine light is on, and when the car is about to stall, starts to blink.

I already have a light on for one of the front tires which has a slow leak, and which I fixed with a can of tire fix but can’t rely on it.

I might have brought the car into the shop this morning, but I wasn’t sure just when the heavy rain from last night (far better than snow, I think) would stop and I didn’t want to chance getting stranded somewhere and getting wet – the cold and wet doing amazing things for my back, and not in a positive way.

Tire trouble and car woes are a historic part of Christmas tradition, dating back to Christmas Eve 1972 when Hank agreed to pick me up at my mother’s apartment in Paterson so we could travel back to Montclair to meet up with Pauly and Jane at their Pine Street apartment.

Hank rang the bell to my mother’s garden apartment on Trenton Avenue, telling me something was wrong with his car. He kept hearing a rumbling sound that didn’t sound good. When I checked, I found that he had a flat tire, but no jack. So, carefully, we drove to Charlie’s gas station next door to the house on Crooks Avenue where I grew up. Charlie’s son, Chuck, said he didn’t have time to fix the tire, but helped put the spare on so we could get where we were going.

Flash forwards a year to Christmas Eve 1974 when we all gathered in Passaic, and then Hank agreed to drive everybody up to Jane’s place in Towaco, only to have a tire blow on Main Street in Clifton. We all leaped out of the car, determined to change the tire quickly, only to discover – that while Hank had acquired a jack – he had failed to fix the flat tire from the year before.

Garrick grabbed Hank’s hat in frustration and threw it up into air, where he caught on the “N” of lettered sign spelling “Clifton Auto” then knocked down the “N” while trying to retrieve it, becoming a running joke when we continued to refer to the place later as “Clifto Auto”. The place is still an auto shop although no long bears that name,

We all left the car on the side of the road and called Louis to come rescue us in his van.

Hank and I returned to the car the day after Christmas with a spare. But when we put the jack up and changed the tire, we could not figure out how to get the jack down again, hiking to a nearby gas station where the attendant – looking at us like we were idiots – told us how.

Over the years, car troubles seemed to pick the holidays for such nonsense, a bit of fate since usually repair places are booked up days ahead of these events. One year, when picking up Pauly at the mall in west Jersey, my bumper fell off, and I had to put it in the back seat until I could get it repaired.

This year the challenge will be getting the car to the shop and not get stranded. Fortunately, a car shop I frequent agreed to let me bring the car back tomorrow.

I do not use the car often these days, only for grocery shopping, laundry, and the occasional magical mystery tour on Fridays, seeking new places within driving distance to explore.

Covering events, I mostly take the local light rail, which saves wear and tear on the car, but often leaves me waiting a long time on cold train platforms – which contributes to my back problems.

My back is better partly because I started doing yoga, the heat pad and the massage device almost as soon as it went out, so the pain I feel is more like the third or forth day of pervious events, instead of the crippling first and second day.

Still, the rain and cold doesn’t help. Again, I’m fortunate, we haven’t had snow, but then maybe I might tap Santa for a ride in his sleigh.

 

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