three jazz standards and a nickle's worth of blues

For all of you who have ever needed an aspirin and had to ask a stranger

Driving down the highway at a brisk and legal 60 MPH, I noticed my temperature gauge creeping up uncomfortably fast. I had replaced my radiator in September: are radiators something like oil-changes which need to be changed quarterly?

I got to the barn and watched steam rise from under the hood. This was going from bad to worse; so I got my horse and ate an apple. Idesia is smarter than me and she told me that ignoring a wound only leads to scarring. I put her away and opened the hood. There are a lot of tubes and gears and wires under there. As a sophomore in High School I had wanted to take auto-mechanics. But my mother forbade me on the grounds that it was "dirty". Her socioeconomic gender limiting reaction led me to take a welding class; I have the innate skills of a seven-year old when it comes to the mystical workings of my car's secret operations. I digress, I am an adult and no longer blame my mother for everything.

On the left side of the engine there is bucket that is supposed to be filled with radiator fluid. I pop the top and it was as empty as an anorexic on prom night. Filling the reservoir with water, I decide to fake like I have radiator fluid all the home. Two miles out, my Taurus Wagon was blowing steam and with the needle creeping up into the red, I stop. The fluid had all but evaporated, again.

Taking my water bottles, I head to the Exxon bathroom. I am in gym pants and not feeling so hot, what with grease on my dirty hands. I fill the chamber and start the motor. I spot the culprit; it's a busted hose. I am elated to have diagnosed the malaise. The prognosis is grim as I don't have a degree from the MacGyver institute— in which case it wouldn't matter that I'm 25 miles from home with out a screwdriver. I chew my lip.

A guy drives up in a red mustang (no, really) and asks if I need help. I am not a feinting maiden. I know my odds. I accept his offer of a tool set. The hose has a dime sized hole an inch from the motor. He drives me to a Napa and they give us a piece of rubber tubing the length of my hand. Attaching the hose took two minutes. After thanking the generous stranger, I was on my way.

Yes, this real life adventure shows my skills of looking under the hood and spotting trouble. More, I am notorious for letting problems simmer until there is an explosion. But not this time.