Better Vans, Better Libraries

The rumors are true:  We got a new vehicle.

Here is the truth about driving a vehicle so far past its expiration date it's going all Kevorkian on you, begging for the sweet release of van-death:  Your children (and you!) will be almost indecently grateful for this new vehicle.  They care not one whit that this vehicle is not brand-new, or that it's not as fancy as some of its fellows out on the road; they're just happy to be able to hear again.  Every single time we've ridden in it, at least one of them has commented, "It's so quiet!"  I said nearly the same thing to Derek after driving it to the library last night.  "I cannot get over how quiet this van is.  I mean, it's seriously, like, silent."

Now, is it silent?  Of course not.  This is not a Tesla we're talking about here.  But it has zero, count 'em, ZERO holes in the muffler, nor does the flex pipe need to be replaced.  It has four, count 'em, FOUR working door handles, AND the back hatch opens.  And did I mention the heating in the back of the van?  Because it works!  It pumps out beautifully warm air at your command!  MAGIC!

Speaking of the library (I kind of did, buried somewhere in a paragraph up there), can I just say how marvelous it is to visit a 21st century library?  I remember the cruel limits imposed on me as a child, like three books is gonna last me more than a day, lady.  Do you know how many books we checked out last night?

That's a heavily cropped screenshot of our online account.  Between four of us, we got to check out 50 items.  And that's just at one library!

Now, the downside to this is that we go to more than one library on a regular basis, and we check out at least as many books at our small town library, and that's just a heck of a lot of books to keep track of.  We do have a system for all these library books, kind of, and we have yet to lose a book.  (*crosses fingers- knocks on wood- mutters a prayer*)  

Also:  Are 21st century librarians nicer, or is it just me?  I have some pretty cranky librarians populating my memory banks, but how much of that was actual crankiness and how much was those poor people reacting to me being a punk kid?  When it comes to librarians, our family is blessed with an embarrassment of riches.  Ah, but then again, I remember a librarian in Connecticut who was so determinedly hostile I found myself hoping she'd run afoul of an overloaded book cart one day.  I walked to her library many, many days, with an infant Adelaide strapped to my chest and my face stretched into a wide, wide smile, but apparently when a librarian chooses to use her not insignificant powers for evil it can even thwart attempts to kill someone with kindness.

She was rude and cold to this face, a face that has loved books since she was teeny tiny.  Librarian Most Vile and I did not become besties.

Thankfully, 95% of the librarians we've encountered in Iowa have been the very antithesis of LMV:  Kind and open and helpful and smart and funny, reinforcing my notion that book people really are the best people.

For all my book homies

Bison bison, Broken broken

In addition to friendly, our local auto repair place is speedy, and got the van back to us with a new hood and new windshield on Friday, a mere four days post-trauma.  Somehow they managed to find a used hood that was the same color as the rest of our van, which was super helpful, as we requested they just get the thing drive-able, not necessarily pretty or perfect which was probably a relief to the mechanics as they are not miracle workers.

When I picked it up one of the mechanics assured me that the van will probably continue to run for quite some time, as "the engines on those things generally run forever; people just stop driving them because everything else falls apart."

What's that, Sir Mechanic?  "Everything else falls apart"?  You don't mean things like:

• The driver's side door handle half broken, thisclose to coming completely off,

• One of the outer sliding door handles coming off in the hand of a passenger who dared to attempt opening the door,

• The power doors being inoperable,

• The manual button you use to open the inside of one of the sliding doors sticking nearly every time you use it, often having to be pried out with a key,

• The volume knob slicing itself cleanly in two and half of it falling off,

• The handle of the back hatch no longer working, making it so we can't open the back door,

• A hole in the exhaust system making the van so loud our neighbors must surely think Sturgis has relocated to our town when we're still a block away,

• The two back automatic windows that are supposed to open a bit for ventilation no longer working, 

• The heat no longer working in the middle or back rows,

• The two black pieces of rubber on either side of the windshield coming loose and flapping like the wings of an irate goose anytime we're on the highway,

• The turn signals and hazards abruptly going on strike- they did fix those at the shop, as they're the tiniest bit important.

I'd say the maniacal laughter that threatened to erupt from me at his words was entirely warranted.  

Also, I Didn't Die

Well.  I had a breezy, chatty, listy post half-written this morning about seed libraries and a terrific book I just finished, but then I made the mistake of gathering up the sacks of donations for Goodwill and actually trying to get something done today.  Our death-trap of a van had other plans.

Five minutes from our house, on the little two-lane country highway, I was tooling along, deedle-dee, the children are at grandma's for the day so I shall go to Goodwill and maybe T.J. Maxx, when hello, Mister Hood, I do not believe you are supposed to be straight up in the air and in my face whilst I am driving, plus you make it awfully hard to see where I'm going- impossible, in fact- and I do not appreciate all this glass that is now all over my person from the windshield you just shattered with a dramatic BAM while I was driving 60 miles per hour and minding my own business.

I have mentally referred to this vehicle by the affectionate name Bison bison for some time now, being that the van is big and hulking and loud and more endangered than the actual bison, plus it travels the plains of the midwest.  I'd also hoped that a title like that would inspire it to be as majestic as its namesake, though the genus-species reference was sheer flattery, I admit.

After today, however, I think Death Trap is a little more fitting.

The bright side:

• I had a couple inches of sight below the hood when it was up, just enough to allow me to maneuver to the narrow shoulder and out of harm's way.

• I hadn't made it to the interstate yet, which would have made the whole thing more treacherous.

• The children weren't with me.

• Everyone I interacted with, from the lady on the phone at dispatch to the policeman to the tow truck driver to the mechanic, was incredibly kind to me.  The tow truck driver was so nice ("Man, you're having a bad day,"  "Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of,"  "You're handling this all really well!") I was tempted to ask him to scale it back a bit; I need brisk kindness in these situations; if you're too nice tears threaten, and no one wants to see that, least of all me, and because he got there pretty quickly I was still relatively shaken from the whole thing.

And see?  I got to make a list after all.