Guest Humor by Patricia Jean Smith
When my husband had a massive stroke in 2012, our life went sideways. Habitual patterns of behavior went out the window. For example, I became the lone driver as one car was now enough. Consequently, I have spent more time with our automobile mechanic over the last decade than had formerly been the case, when automobile maintenance was my husband’s domain.
Our 2000 Toyota Avalon has now passed the 284,000 kilometer [176,469 mile] mark. Like the new century she is twenty-two years old. She has been a marvelous car, living up to her reputation as one of the most reliable vehicles on the road. She is a car in which my husband is comfortable unlike many of the newer models on which he is likely to bump his head when getting in or getting out. But alas, like me, our Avalon is now showing signs of her age. For example, she has an unsightly bubble of rust at the base of the door on her front passenger side. It’s an unattractive blemish which I could liken to the two bumps which have lately erupted on the side of my nose and my chin. Also, the front door lock on her passenger side no longer responds to messages from my key fob. She refuses to lock or unlock the passenger door upon my command. I now have to perform these operations manually. I could liken her failure to respond to my signals to my failure to respond to my husband’s remarks to me when the TV is on or when he is in another part of the house and calls for my attention. It seems my hearing is just not what it used to be.
I could go on recounting the parallels between our aging Avalon and me but I suspect I have made my point. We are both getting old, although I still think we look pretty good, especially considering our respective ages. But, alas, the bald truth remains: the car and I are spending more time with our mechanic, Bill, than we once did. Nowadays our regular service and checkup will no longer suffice. On my last visit in November for a new battery, I chanced to remark to Bill that I now had the telephone number of his Car Clinic memorized.
He laughed and said: “It’s when I have your number memorized that you need to worry.”
I laughed, too, but knowing how fleeting my memory can be I decided to program the number of the Car Clinic into my phone, a vintage Motorola V551 GSM flip phone circa 2005.
On my September visit to the Car Clinic for the Avalon’s regular service, Bill had suggested that she was soon going to need a new timing belt. (Ideally, I would like one for me, too.)
“How soon?” I queried.
“About a year,” replied Bill “or maybe two if you’re lucky.”
So now it’s January and my husband has detected a suspicious whirring sound under the hood just after I have put her into reverse and am about to accelerate. It is becoming obvious that it’s time to call Bill for an estimate on the cost of a new timing belt. I flip open my cell phone to find Bill’s number, which I can no longer remember. I locate the Car Clinic entry, turn off my cell phone, and proceed to dial his number on my land line. Bill answers. I identify myself and begin to explain the current problem. In the background at the clinic, I can hear another phone ringing.
“Just a minute, please,” Bill interrupts. “I’ve got a call on the other line.”
There’s a short pause and he returns.
“There was no one there, but here’s the weird thing: my caller ID says it was from another Patricia Smith.”
“Another Patricia Smith?” I ask. “Now how strange is that?” In a trice I consider the astronomical improbability of two people with the same name calling the same Car Clinic at exactly the same time. Could the universe be collapsing into an alternate dimension? Just like me and our Avalon?
“I’ll say!” says Bill. “She was calling from . . . ” and he proceeds to recite the number of my flip phone, which I assumed I had shut off, but must have pushed the wrong button.
“Life certainly throws up some odd coincidences,” I say. Particularly for aging caregivers, I think. “So… how much will a new timing belt cost?”
Patricia Jean Smith is the author of four books, including the newly released The Caregiver’s Companion; A Song for My Daughter, Double Bind, and a humorous book, The Golf Widow’s Revenge. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband of over fifty years, Ron Smith.
