How my first car was destroyed by squirrels

The first car I really owned was a 1981 VW Dasher diesel station wagon. Army green, with the front end definitely fading and headed toward rust. I paid 300 dollars cash for it in the fall of 1994, prepped to drive it out to college for my senior year. I also spray-painted it with rustproofing one afternoon to change it to a flat black of sorts (it seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time), and it went from Maine to Vermont on a single tank of gas. I only had it for three months, but it was particularly memorable primarily for its untimely demise. At the hands of squirrels.


I suffered a bit of a nervous breakdown during exam week of my fall semester, and my parents came out that evening to come get me when I temporarily withdrew from college. My mother drove the minivan packed with my stuff, and Dad and I took my car to head home.

We made it as far as Montpelier when it started making some really ugly engine sounds. Hammering, groaning, could-fly-apart-at-any-moment noises. Under the circumstances, we opted not to go any further and got a motel for the night so a mechanic could look at the car in the morning.

(My Dad reassured me that he did not see this in any way as foreshadowing where my mental state was headed. For this, I was grateful.)

The nearest dealership was in Barre, and we had it towed there. The mechanic was a short, grey-bearded, solid guy who had worked in Waterville for 20 years before coming out to Vermont. He was shocked at my car. “Haven’t seen one of these in years….” he muttered. “I’ll see what’s up.”

We waited about a half hour when he came back out, a look of shock and horror on his face. “You gotta come see this,” he said, and motioned us back into the shop.

We walked back into the shop, where Weird Al was playing on the shop radio. (I did consider this a foreshadowing of the condition of my car.) Sticking out of the middle of the engine was a long-handled torque wrench. “Pull on that,” he said.

My father and I both did – the wrench did not move. “That should swing back and forth with no effort at all. Your pistons have all frozen up.”

“How did that happen?” my dad asked.

The man reached into the opened engine block, and pulled out a handful of broken acorns. “Car’s full of ‘em. Some squirrels have been using it for nut storage, apparently.”

I nodded. “They guy I bought it from did say that he’d let it sit outside for a year.”

“Yep. Any other car wouldn’t have even started up. You’ve been driving this how long?”

“Three months. And back and forth to Maine twice.”

He shook his head. “Always wondered what it would take to kill one of these diesel engines. And now I know. A bunch of fucking squirrels.”

We sold the car to one of the other mechanics at the shop for a hundred bucks – the nearly-new studded snow tires would fit his own VW, and he’d use the car for storage out in his back yard. “All the stuff the wifey doesn’t want me keepin’ in the house,” he said with a wink.

Mom unloaded the van and drove back out to Barre to pick us up. Dad and I still laughed about it for years. He also agreed that I needed a replacement car, and we found one during that month I was home recovering – a 1986 Honda Prelude that served me well for many years (and has a few stories attached to it).

My brother Andy also insisted it was time he got his own car as well – he got a Dodge Daytona that my Dad warned him against after test-driving it (when we got done testing the Prelude, Dad said if I wasn’t buying it, he was). The Daytona was a story unto itself, going through three engines in about two years before the mechanic insisted he was NOT installing a 4th into that heap-o-crap car. (Andy also totaled my Dad’s car running into a deer going back and forth to the garage after the death of the final engine, just in case there was any question about the bad mojo attached to the Daytona.)

My current car is very boring – first really “boring” one I’ve owned, and I’m finding I rather like it that way.

It's not a party 'til the cops call for backup

Regular readers of my FB page are familiar with the insanity of the lower apartment here at 41 Church Street. But I really had my hopes for quiet this weekend. Thanksgiving itself came and went very quietly. (I spent Thanksgiving alone - that's a different post entirely, and not a sad and pathetic one, I promise.) The neighbors even brought me up a piece of cheesecake. (I'd intended to go downstairs to join them for coffee, but ended up spending a few hours on the phone with a friend instead. Good to catch up.)

First - some backstory. The older teenager, Josh, has taken up with a young lady who has two kids. A three year old and a baby. The lady (Caitlin? I think? It works for now.) in question essentially lives with them, and the kids live there too. Josh is trying very hard to be a patient father, but he suffers from being a teenager (and spending way too much time with the small kids and not enough working on his GED).

  Oh - and I forgot to mention. Neither kid is his - the baby, however, is his stepbrother's. James is a scumbag (according to everyone downstairs - not sure what he actually DID), but is still a part of the baby's life. And as a side bit of juicy gossip, Caitlin is still desperately in love with the stepbrother and is merely waiting for him to get his act together and take her back. That's the story around the campfire, anyway.

(Yes, Jay - Jerry Springer IS on line one. Why do you ask?)

(Side note - you ever seen an argument over how to properly install a car seat ever come to blows? With the baby in the seat? Yeah - there's some tension between Josh and James.)

So Friday morning, Caitlin dropped the baby off with James at McDonalds, and apparently spent a little too long chatting with him for Josh's liking. A fight ensued, much shouting and door-slamming, and Josh took off out of the driveway - spinning tires, squealing and roaring of engine. (Note - this is not an uncommon thing. He's a teenage boy. I'll give him a little leeway.)

Three minutes later, he comes roaring back in at top speed, and nearly ends up in the front lawn as he brakes. More shouting and slamming of doors, this time involving Dan (Josh's stepfather, and yes, James's dad), yelling at top volume with a whole bunch of cursing and posturing about ass-kicking on all sides. And Josh goes roaring out of the driveway again.

Next is Dan on the phone with Wendy (wife and Josh's mother), screaming and cursing about what an asshole Josh is, and how neighbors on both sides have complained about the roaring in and out and how it needs to stop. "YOUR SON is fucking out of control! I don't know if anyone else is going to call the cops, but I FUCKING WILL!!!!"

Another two mintues pass, and Josh comes blazing back into the driveway AGAIN. (Well, technically blazing back onto the front lawn - really overshot this time.) More yelling, more door slamming, Josh's brother AJ now getting into the yelling. And a door slammi...wait, that's not a door. That's someone slamming into a wall. Or being slammed into a wall. Over and over. Lots more yelling. And I've got my phone out now giving some serious thought to calling the police myself.

But just as I'm about to dial, Josh goes running out to the car, and takes off in a blaze of gravel again. But this time, not headed toward Main Street, but in the other direction. And it's very quiet downstairs.

I'm about to check on the downstairs (keeping in regular text with a friend who was supposed to come over that afternoon, but elected to stay in the relative peace of inner-city Rochester instead) when a LeRoy town officer shows up in official car. I figure if there are bodies downstairs he's better equipped to deal with it than I am, and I go work on making more coffee.

At the sound of grinding gravel and squealing brakes, I look back out the window, expecting to see Josh peeling back into the driveway. But no - it's Wendy, Josh's mother, nearly taking out the back end of the police car and making it halfway to the lawn herself, before jumping out and slamming the door open and shut.

"What the FUCK is she doing here?!?! Why the FUCK is SHE in my living room?!?!?!"

Very quickly I see a female officer hustle into the cruiser, close the door, and get on the radio. A minute later, a State Trooper pulls up to the curb, and the LeRoy police officer re-enters the apartment.

(My contribution to the drama - at this point, I text the landlord. "Just so you know, state trooper and leroy town officer are at Dan and Wendy's for a disturbance call. I didn't make the call." "Wonderful lol" is all I get for a response.)

Music (or movie) starts blasting really loud at this point, but eventually quiets down. (In my own mind, I'm picturing Wendy cranking the volume and closing the door while Dan is talking to the officer. But i could be wrong.)

Eventually the officer leaves, and quiet settles over the land. Creepy quiet. I eventually take Dante for a walk, but things seem to have settled out. My friend finally came over, noting, as so many others have, that I really should consider moving away from the crazy people. Josh finally returned this morning. I've heard nothing exciting so far - all quiet. We'll see how long it lasts. Happy Holidays, everyone.

On gardens and started projects

So the back garden is now finished. I've posted pictures on FB (I do so wish I'd posted some "before" pictures, but you'll just have to imagine a field of weeds. I've also purchased 300 feet of hose (never occurred to me to think about how to WATER the back 40), and it seems that things are going to settle in and look really nice in a couple of years.

I have realized this summer exactly how awesome this location is for having a seven-year-old. There is the creek out back, the big backyard (now that I've cleared out the woodpile and Kevin hauled off what was left), the island in the creek (now suitable for camping), and the playground just up the road. I have fallen in love with living here this summer, which isn't bad for a place I'd originally moved into two and a half years ago with the intention of it being temporary. I've been looking over my posts and draft posts for the past year, and there seems to be a common theme of wanting to get projects done and get my motivation back. I spoke to a friend who told me one of the things she loved about me was my work ethic. Had this been an old friend who'd known me for years, I would have thought she meant the ethic I had in the past, as I've been kind of a sloth of late. But no, this is a friend who has known me for only about two years now - what I consider one of the more slothful periods I've had. I told her as much, and she pointed to the garden, the clearing of the island, the clearing of the woodpile, moving a library, helping Jess move, pretty much completely renovating the apartment - I've been pretty busy, as she pointed out. So I accept that I have my motivation, I just need to direct it a bit. It comes down to a morning ritual and figuring out what is important to accomplish. Working on the garden seems to be a good start. We'll see where it goes from here.

Gardening and cleaning and preparing

So on an impulse, I bought a pair of hydrangeas. I've always liked them, and the bountiful poof of colors they have. The front yard is the domain of Wendy downstairs, and I wouldn't even DARE ask about sharing space. So the hydrangeas are going out back, in an attempt to reclaim some of the back forty. If those two do well, then I'll look into the possibility of getting more to fill out the back. They would make a great backdrop to the end of the yard, I think. August is upon us, and as a teacher that means getting revved up for the year at hand. It means getting things in order as responsibilities start creeping up and then the crashing of September is at hand. So today is a day of cleaning and setting up aspirations. I need to streamline some things, clear out some things, and finish up a few projects that have just been lying around the apartment. I also plan to make some commitments to an August "challenge" at Zen Habits, so I'm going to do the writing challenge again. Seems like a good plan, and something I keep trying to do. So I'll be posting odd Facebook posts about word-count again. Bear with me. Hope summer is going well for you too. Future posts will hopefully have more substance.

Clean apartment

My apartment is, at the moment, distressingly clean. Anyone who's known me for any length of time will understand what I mean. Neatness and cleanliness have never been the hallmarks of places I've lived. I wouldn't say they ever get to the point of filthy (okay, they have on occasion), but there is always some dirt around the edges. I rescued a friend from a difficult situation the other night, and her way of repaying me was to clean the apartment. She is also someone who has cleaned for a living, which is a completely different mindset of cleaning than any I've ever had. I've never been efficient at it - it's always a slog to get through, and it all piles up because I don't want to deal with it, etc. But she did dishes and cleaned and vacuumed (I can't even remember the last time I vacuumed - how sad is that?), and I now have a sparkling apartment. Which is good, because it's making me think about the rest of it and a need for organization and paring things down. Jess is having the yard sale the weekend after next, and I should add a whole bunch of things to it. Pare down to the simplicity I keep saying I want, yet somehow manage to never get. Probably from having way too much of a pack-rat tendency that was inherited quite honestly from my Dad. But for now I'm grateful, and enjoying the space. More coffee, then on to work, and the ongoing packing project there.

Holding the magic and keeping it alive

I just got back from seeing Jane's Addiction, and I feel like I had the top of my skull lifted off. It was a crazy, intense experience that I am just basking in at the moment.

The catch is hanging on to it. I feel inspired, ready to roll into something creative, expressive, and impressive. :) Must keep the magic. Thank you, gentlemen, for an incredible evening.

Resolutions for 2012

Yeah, technically I'm a little late with these. That's okay - I'm good with a little lateness. This is me, after all.

Habitizing with Leo Babauta from Zen Habits last spring was an eye-opener. I did the Habit Course with the idea of trying to stop being a late riser, and getting right up at 5:30.

Frighteningly enough, I did it. At the end of the month, I was popping right out of bed on time, raring to go. Unfortunately, it didn't last. I had a round of mild depression that kicked the progress back down the well. And I'm still staggering out of bed now.

The problem was, after I did it, I failed to see the point. Yes, getting up early was a noble goal, but WHY? What was I doing with all that extra time? Was there any reasoning or rationale for it? It didn't translate with the funk I was in, and so I stopped.

Looking ahead to 2012 (oh wait - it's already here...nevermind...), I've found some peace with a lot of things that have happened, and I need to move forward to find my own happiness. So, for the first month of 2012, here are my intentions.

1. Artists create things. So create something.
I'm 4000 words into a novel I've tried to start several times. I plan to habitize this as a morning ritual and routine - get up and write. Initially starting with 1000 words, and then moving up to 2000. Gotta get it settled first to make it happen.
365project is another good outlet for this. One picture a day. :)
Also intending on more guitar. We'll see how that goes. Might become a February habit.

2. No more nightcap.
Man, this one has been killing me, and I battle it often. It also seems to be a cause of sleep apnea, which I've been told my several people I have issues with. So we'll see if this helps too. Trade the nightcap for sleepytime tea. Starting tonight. One drink in the evening.

3. Eating breakfast and drinking water.
This is something I got from a book I've been reading that I might write more on later. It's about energy management. I've always been one of those people who have skipped breakfast and run on coffee IV all day. Can't do that anymore. Gotta get the triglyceride count down along with needing to lose a few pounds. So - breakfast. Like oatmeal breakfast.

Certainly enough to start with for a month. As part of the habitizing process, I will be posting regular updates for them. So hopefully you will be seeing updates such as "1200, tea, oatmeal". (Word count, no nightcap, and breakfast. And it will make sense of some sort. Here's hoping for a habitized New Year and exciting stuff on the horizon.