No Beach this Sunday

In case you expected a beach post, well, that was the plan.

I wanted to go to the beach, but I didn’t; my car broke down, right in the parking lot in front of my house. Transmission failure; the dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. The thing is only five years old. Time for a new car, if you ask me.  What five-year old car has transmission failure? I am not that though on my car.

Maybe just as well, because my father in-law says that I shouldn’t be driving my car in times of trouble.

I didn’t get that at first.

What do you mean? ‘I shouldn’t drive’ in times of trouble? That’s what I have done all throughout my career; drive when there’s trouble. Usually in the direction of it. He ought to know that.

“No, not you. That car of yours”, he explains.
“What’s wrong with my car?” I ask.
“It’s the kind of car that they need to install a gun on. Comes in very handy these days.”

And indeed. I drive a pick-up truck. If you watch the news on Syria (or Mogadishu, Iraq. Libya , just to name a few), my car is quite the vehicle for urban warfare. The drums of war are beating. We’ve been there before, but somehow it is a little different, although I cannot quite explain why. Both sides are urging their people to go fight in Syria. Of course, in Syria they will also be on opposite sides as well. If you can kill a fellow country man over the border, what stops you from killing him here? Even easier, you don’t have to travel that far.

Instead, I cut the dog’s hair and hitched a ride from hubbie. Not to the beach though.