Presence, Success

Trashcan Full of Tissues

March 1, 2025

I was feeling well enough to go for a short walk around the park on Friday. Lovely to see that the trees are starting to bloom.

My trashcan overflowed with tissues from the cold I caught this week. I made my way through an entire tissue box.

At first, I refused to admit I was sick. I didn’t want to be sick. I had things to do! My annual mammogram was scheduled for Saturday morning and I desperately needed to go to Costco. When Sunday rolled around, I still wasn’t feeling great, but my next door neighbors had started a burn pile, and I had piles of brush that needed to be burned.

Of course, this was something I could do on my own, anytime when it was a “permissible burn day,” which is something you can easily find out by checking our county’s website. Since we’ve had good rain lately, burning has been permitted. I even have a space toward the back of my property where someone had burned before, a circle of rocks and some charred logs. But I was nervous about this, and if my neighbors had a pile going, I could wheelbarrow my brush down to them and take care of it. It took a couple of hours of loading and wheeling, but I was victorious. Sure, I was coughing a bit as I did it, but I wasn’t that sick, right?

Monday morning dawned. I needed to work. One tricky thing about being self-employed is that you don’t get paid sick days. If I don’t work, I don’t earn. I was sure I could work, though, especially if I fortified myself with the magic elixirs of Sudafed and Advil and carried unwrapped cough drops in my massage apron. I had made it to Costco and had worked in the yard just the other day! Surely, it was only a little cold and I wasn’t that sick.

But late Monday morning, as I sat at the kitchen table, drank my hot tea, and tried my best to motivate myself to get ready for work, I finally accepted reality.

I was that sick. Continue Reading…

Daily Grace, Security

Another Check Engine Light

February 22, 2025

Oh no. Not again…

I think I may have developed a kind of car related PTSD.

The check engine light came on in my “new to me” Corolla this week, a car which I have owned for all of about five weeks now. This was most unwelcome. I had finished my workday, had walked a few sunny laps around the park, was happy that it was Friday, and was debating whether or not I had enough energy to stop at the Grocery Outlet to see if they had my favorite kind of yogurt in stock.

Then I turned the key in the ignition and the check engine light came on.

A check engine light in a “new to you” car will suck all the “going to run to the market for a minute” energy right out of you. Instead, you will be grateful that it is relatively early in the afternoon so there is still time to stop at your auto repair shop, which is a few miles up the freeway on the way home. Someone there could use a professional-level code reader to run the codes to let you know what kind of trouble you are in.

I have had a series of  car “check engine” light incidents lately. The Subaru Forester that we bought started running very rough and had that light come on a few days after we purchased it. Turns out it needed new spark plugs, which wasn’t a terrible fix, but wasn’t much fun either. The most wrenching check engine light episode was in my first Corolla, the one I inherited from my Mom and Dad, which I’ve written about here. The biggest problem when that light illuminates is that you can’t register your car because it automatically fails a smog test. Unfortunately, that light can come on due to a variety of engine problems. It can be something as simple as a loose gas cap, or something as major as needing a new transmission or catalytic converter.

My old Corolla would have needed a new transmission. Suddenly, my new to me Corolla had the same light shining.

This was most unsettling.

So I had a sick feeling in my stomach and glared at the light all the way up the freeway to the garage. I told the cheerful receptionist that my check engine light was on and wondered if someone could read the codes for me. She said, “I remember that Corolla!”

“Except it’s my new one,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, looking a little sad for me.

She rounded up a technician, and we walked out to the parking lot together.

“It’s going to be fine,” he assured me. “It’s a Toyota! They go forever! It could just be the gas cap!”

Yes, I thought to myself, unless I somehow managed to buy a lemon.

As it turns out, it wasn’t the gas cap.

But it also wasn’t a transmission issue or anything deadly serious. He said the codes indicated that it was a problem with one of the pumps in the emissions system. And there was good news: this problem will not affect the drivability of the car; it’s completely safe to drive. Also, since the car just passed a smog test, I don’t have to worry about emissions testing for another two years. When it’s time for my next emissions test, he said it wouldn’t be a huge deal, that I could bring the car in and they would take care of it for me.

He reset the codes so the check engine light went off again. I’ve taken the car to town a few times now (to Costco even!) and it hasn’t come back on. He also said that if the light comes back on, that I can stop by every once in a while and they can run the codes again, just to make sure that nothing new has popped up, that the problem is the same.

The technician’s kindness nearly moved me to tears. He said he remembered the problem that I had with the Forester. He remembered the issue with my inherited Corolla. He reassured me that this check engine light was not something of that caliber, that everything was going to be OK.

Sometimes, it’s nice to have someone tell you that, especially someone who knows a lot about cars.

It’s going to be OK: words that meant a lot to me last Friday afternoon.