Carless in the suburbs. It began with our 1998 Volvo, a generally reliable warhorse of a vehicle. But late last week, it began leaking gasoline out of a tube poking out from the bottom of the car. (The Boy, who drives this car, did not appreciate the new nickname I bestowed on it - "The Deepwater Horizon.")
Clearly, this car is not safe to drive. But never mind, I still had my new car. OK, it's actually 10 years old and passed the 120,000 mile mark this summer. But that, too, gave up the ghost, on the very same day. Even AAA had trouble getting it started, and it appears to be more than a battery problem.
That car can be salvaged and is at the shop. It's probably time to put the Volvo out to pasture, because at a certain point, you just can't keep pouring money into an old car - diminishing returns.
Thank goodness for my Mom, who leant me her car. That too, is 10 years old. But it does pass one important test: it goes.
Anyway, it is time to break down (ugh - bad choice of words) and get a new car.
So far, in the last month, the following things have broken: the coffee pot, the grill, the oven, the attic fan (which blew the circuit that controlled the upstairs lights) and both cars. Bottom line: it's just stuff, not people. Still, I'm keeping a close eye on this computer...