New Car!
Okay, I have to admit that I am writing this because I am procrastinating at work. YES, I AM WRITING THIS AT WORK, BUT IT’S MY LUNCH HOUR. That being said, I’m probably going to eat some of the yummy hummus and pita + salad I bought while hunched over my desk trying to fix this DARN BUG!!! OOOh, I hate computers sometimes! Particularly when my code is buggy. But I fixed three bugs this morning, so I’m feeling a little entitled right now.
Anyway! Back to the car.
Anyone who knows me knows the saga of me and my Ford Focus. Here’s the short long story: in college, my parents bought me a Ford Festiva (thank you mom and dad!) which I dearly loved. It was small. It was red. Its name was Ho-Ho. It got 42 mpg and almost never broke down, and it cost $100 to replace all 4 tires. In short, it was car nirvana.
However, after we had Ben, it became car hell. We took back a carseat because it literally could not fit into the tiny backseat. The next carseat, the smallest we could find for a newborn, only just fit, and then only if Marti drove with his knees around his ears. Also, Ho-Ho didn’t have a/c, which was only miserable for a few months in Washington, DC — but we were moving to Tucson. So one day I declared that I would NOT move to Tucson with an infant unless I had a car with air conditioning, which in hindsight was REALLY FREAKING SMART of me. I can’t tell you the number of times I had to pull over in 110-degree weather to nurse Ben when he was little (Ben, if you’re reading this, YOU NEVER PUT MY NIPPLE IN YOUR MOUTH. REALLY.) and I would leave that a/c going full blast, bringing the temperature of the car down to a comfortable 95+. (Marti: mmmm, nipples). But I digress…
So, since I had loved my little Ford so very much, and it had been such a great car (I’d had a very, very crappy Subaru in highschool, whose tailpipe had broken in the middle of a church scavenger hunt leaving sparks and terrifying old ladies all over Ontario, Oregon. Did I stop? OF COURSE NOT) that I decided to buy another Ford. At first I wanted a Ford Fiesta, one jump up from the Festiva, only to find Ford had stopped making them in lieu of their new model, the Focus. Some friends of ours had just bought a Focus (they had a new baby too) and just raved about it, so despite the fact that we had really been considering a Honda Civic, we went ahead and bought the Ford. Oh, yes, we bough the farm Ford.
Our 2002 Focus worked well for about 6 months, whereupon it started making strange clicking noises that could be heard whenever we had the windows down. It was under warranty, so I happily took it to the dealership, where they kept it for 3 weeks (we only had bicycles to ride the entire time) and then declared nothing was wrong, it was perfectly fine, and I was clearly paranoid/insane. Hmmmmmm.
We got the car back, only to hear the clicking noises some more, so I diligently took it back to the dealership. They kept it another 2 weeks, but this time we hit paydirt — the transmission was bad. What? We had about 17K miles on the car (we had driven it to Tucson from DC) but I was very surprised to have lost the transmission already, and I blamed Marti’s driving. It took another week to get a transmission in it, but after that there wasn’t any clicking, so we were happy.
Fast forward to 20,000 miles: stock tires are bald and have to be replaced. $400.
28,000 miles: during the very first brake change we found that the stock rotors were tiny and would have to be replaced. Cost: $800.
37,000 miles: just out of warrranty, the car starts clicking again.
47,000 miles: Marti runs the car into an arroyo during a flash flood and the car has to be rebuilt from the bottom up. We heave a sigh of relief as we get a 3rd transmission as part of the deal. We are without a car for 6 weeks.
55,000 miles: Back tires are bald again. Replacement cost: $300.
75,000 miles: Despite rotating tires, back tires are bald again. Replacement: $300 (yes, we should have used our warranty, but we hadn’t rotated every 5K miles and thus it was worthless — a good lesson).
85,000 miles: Car starts clicking again.
90,000 miles: Back tires are bald again. My dad takes a look and says its the alignment. We take it to a shop, who says it will cost $300 to align the tires because Fords have to have a special kit. We also find out that the tires have never been aligned, and we probably bought the car that way because of how the dealers ship them on trucks, which is why our 75K tires only last 20K. Cost: $600 with new tires (warranties don’t count if there is an alignment issue).
100,000 miles: Fuel pump dies. Replacement: $750.
105,000 miles: Car starts popping out of 5th gear and hydraulic fluid is running down the clutch pedal. I suspect the transmission and clutch master cylinder, and take it to a shop. They agree. Cost: $3000. Since the car is only worth $3200 in perfect condition, we consider it totaled.
Here’s the funny thing: I am totally and completely relieved. We’ve been fighting with that car for 8 years, so much so that I actually took a 1984 Toyota pickup on a 5,000 mile road-trip rather than drive our 3-year-old car. We never knew when it was going to break down, blow a (new) tire, or just do something strange. After about 15K miles, EVERYTHING rattled on it, to the point of driving us totally insane. In fact, Marti would often speed in rental cars, because in our car the rattles got to be unbearable at about 70 mph, so it was easy to hear if you were speeding or not. Since my parents were here, we took my dad and started looking around. I thought I wanted to buy a Honda Accord or something similar (the Prius is still out of our price range) but I really wanted leather seats, so we looked at a lot of Volvos and Saabs and BMWs. I had fun test-driving an older BMW 3-series, but it seemed small and the seats didn’t fold down in the back, which is problematic for us with our single car. Finally, at a wholesale dealership I had gone to to check out a Saab, I saw it: a beautiful, 11-year-old Acura with leather seats, sunroof, power everything and Bose sound system for just $6K. We took it for a test drive and I found it hard to give it back; we drove it for 45 minutes, checking out such novel features as the motorized, telescoping steering wheel (I had to sit on a pillow during long trips in our Ford), heated seats, lumbar support and cruise control. I think the dealer thought we’d done a runner on him, but we did come back and offered him $5200. We finally decided on $5400 plus taxes, which was a great deal and came to just over $6K out-the-door (taxes are high in Tucson). The car doesn’t rattle. It doesn’t grind. It’s comfortable to drive and doesn’t hurt my back. The kids love the back seat, which is big enough for them to actually stretch their legs, and I love the sunroof and the little niche where I can put my sunglasses.
I know that cars aren’t perfect — the Acura does occasionally make a buzzing noise when you first turn the a/c or heater on — but minor defects are different from new transmissions every 25K miles. More than the money, it’s the time in the shop that I dislike; we’ve had a second car from time to time (the Toyota pickup and a Volvo station wagon) but we are primarily a 1-car family, and I don’t think it’s reasonable to have a car in reserve just because the main car breaks down all the time. I’m sure we’ll have to fix things on the Acura — after all, it’s an 11-year-old car! — but there’s a huge difference in quality here. I’m not sure I would ever buy a new car again, and I don’t plan to ever buy another Ford (turns out Kia made my beloved Festiva, and sold it to Ford who slapped their tag on it).
As for the Ford, it’s scrap metal now. We’ll probably donate it the end of the year, although I will try my hand at fixing the master cylinder if I can find some cheap parts, primarily just for the learning experience. Some friends of ours just bought a new Ford Focus, despite our history with ours, and all I have to say is — good luck. I’ll wave while driving by in my Acura.
Cameras
The last few years Marti and I have had a terrible time keeping track of our cameras, and to date I believe we’ve lost 2 so far. I’m not sure exactly how it is possible for us to “lose” a camera, but the last time we saw our Olympus (which I liked very much) was at the annual mud puddle at Reid Park here in Tucson two years ago. We got all these great shots of Ben and Maya with 2,000 of their closest friends playing in giant, fire-hose created puddles of mud…only to get home and be totally unable to find our camera. Probably I set it on a table, or on top of the car, or Maya “took” some pictures and left it on the grass, who knows? Sadly, all those photos of my children completely covered in mud are all gone.
So, I told Marti I wanted a cheap camera this time, thinking that our camera, which was $300 when we bought it, could be re-purchased for a song.
Wrong.
Cheap is still cheap, and the little digital camera ($75) we bought to replace ours, well, sucked. I could only get decent shots if it was on manual and I set each and every setting myself, the flash washed everything out and photos were grainy or blurry all the time. We stopped taking it with us, it became such a chore to actually shoot a single photo, and the video option only worked outside. I mean, come on, I’m only going to take videos outside? In perfect lighting? Because too much light would overexpose the video (read: digital, still overexposing) and too little would make it look like twilight, with vaguely moving blurry shapes. Also, unless I set the white color on it manually, everything turned out blue-ish.
This sad excuse of a camera was MIA as of a few weeks ago, and I can’t say I miss it.
While my parents were visiting, I borrowed the Sony Cyber-Shot my siblings and I bought them a couple years ago. Yes, I bought my parents a decent camera, but didn’t buy one for myself. I was really impressed with their camera, and have a few hundred photos to sift through and post on this blog.
Because that’s the point of this endless ramble: until I get a new camera, just expect my crappy writing, no pictures. The end.
Silent Applause
I must admit that writing in my blog has dropped off the past year, primarily due to the emergence of Facebook. It seems strange to write to my blog, as if the stadium is empty and the guests have all gone; it is so much easier to send out a quick snippet in Facebook or even Twitter. However, the limitations of those media have been more and more apparent of late, as my “friend” lists grows exponentially and I am unable to keep track of who reads or comments on my postings. I recently had to set my Twitter account to private, so that strange and unknown persons could not read about my daily activities and surmise my whereabouts. So the world goes; as things become more popular, so they become more dangerous.
Thus I return to the silent applause that is my blog. Here I don’t remark on how good my coffee was this morning (it was excellent — a 16-ounce Americano from Avenue Coffee, with cream and a dusting of cocoa and cinnamon) or whether or not I slept well last night (hard to do with two children who came in at 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. and took up most of the bed) but I do get the chance to write, scratching that writing “itch” that has pursued me most of my life. I’m also beginning to appreciate the ability to comment at length on what’s happening in my life, and if there are some that read this that shouldn’t, well, at least comments are moderated — by me.
And so I throw myself out into the strange and turbulent seas that make up the Internet and announce: I have passed the foreign service oral assessment and received a conditional offer of employment should I pass the security and medical clearance process. This means I have been poked and prodded both emotionally and physically far more than any human should be, really (read: two pap smears and 10 years of scrutiny into my job/life experiences, including all my failings as a parent). For this reason as well as the fact that I am still shocked to have passed (2 of 12 people in the group passed, one of whom was me) I have been reluctant to announce the results, but since the State Department has been investigating my entire background and probably knows the entire contents of my sock drawer, I thought, what the heck? I’ll announce it to the world. Finally.
So here I am, at the edge of this precipice, trying to juggle security and medical paperwork, my visiting parents, mold in my guesthouse, a leak in my roof, the transmission and master cylinder going out in my horrible car, the purchase of a used vehicle to replace mine, and the usual feeding/bathing/caring for children. Oh, and work, too. And the class I’m taking at the university. See? And at 396 characters, I could not have fit even that paragraph on Twitter.
I can juggle. I can do this. I can practice being diplomatic. Best of all, you can read about it here, without ever hearing about my farm/pet/mafia/vampire; that’s the beauty of a blog, silent applause and all.
“Disregard First Book”
One of the financial blogs I read directed me to this article about older, divorced women, and I found it breathtaking. Having witnessed many of my elders (my aunt, best friend’s mother, among others) go through this exact scenario, I realized that it explains, to the letter, what I think is missing from so much “discussion” of working mothers vs. SAHMs. The financial aspects of staying home for long periods with children can be very devastating for women, but women must also endure a lot of criticism for putting a child in daycare, so there’s really no winning this battle. A lot of discussion goes on about the “ideology” of both courses, but the truth is that it is a narrow path for anyone to navigate.
From “Paradise Lost”, NYTimes
…In subsequent years I lectured on the rewards of homemaking and housewifery. While others tried to make the case that women like me were parasites and little more than legalized prostitutes, I spoke to rapt audiences about the importance of being there for your children as they grew up, of the satisfactions of “making a home,” preparing family meals and supporting your hard-working husband.So I was predictably stunned and devastated when, on our 40th wedding anniversary, my husband presented me with a divorce. I knew our first anniversary would be paper, but never expected the 40th would be papers, 16 of them meticulously detailing my faults and flaws, the reason our marriage, according to him, was over.
I appreciate Terry Hekker’s forthright honesty and her confession that her first book, applauding the choice to be a full-time homemaker, was, at least in her case, overly optimistic. It brings up another element to the discussion about motherhood, and whether or not feminism has truly helped mothers (it does appear to help single women). Food for thought…
Steampunk — my new obsession
Man wears steampunk hat creation @ ComiCon
World, meet my new obsession: steampunk. Do I own anything steampunk? No. Do I wish I owned anything steampunk? YES. Like these amazing thigh-high tights. Or perhaps this super cool cake (see below).
Seriously, though; I love this cake. It’s from Mike’s Creations, which has some of the most amazing wedding cakes I’ve ever seen (even though I loved my own — thanks Christina! You’re a master artist!):
Incredible steampunk cake
My wedding cake - Alice in Wonderland style
And last but not least, I love steampunk fashion — not the candy-stripe pink kind that looks like Victorian wallpaper, but the dark suits, tophats, striped stockings and corsets with tulle hiding under brocade dresses.
From Abney Park on LiveJournal
One of the reasons I wanted to buy a sewing machine was to start making some of my own designs, particularly steampunk designs which are typically hand-made or made from upcycled vintage clothing. I don’t imagine myself walking down the street in a tophat (although I adore hats, and wish good hats were easier to find), but I can be queen of dress-up… or something.
I’m not terribly into fashion, but I do gripe that we just keep recycling the same old fashions over and over. After all, the 1950’s wasn’t “retro,” it was itself; same for the 1960’s and 1970’s, but I see flower children in the park these days listening to iPods. Steampunk, it’s true, is a copy of Victorian style, but with quite a bit of twist. I think punk is one of the funnest styles we had the last century, and to combine that effect with Victorian corsets, tophats, goggles and lace-up boots…we’ll, it’s like visual ska, putting together disparate elements for an amazing whole.
Quote of the week:
From Dooce:
The Grandmommy: Not much different than The Godfather, except maybe a little less bloodshed and a ton more emotional manipulation.
Gifts of Perfection
The Yoda Phone Charm
Want to get me a gift I’ll love? This is your answer. I don’t know how I’ve been living without this for so long. It is closely followed by the Bacteria Assassin Ninja Toothbrush Sanitizer:
You never even saw it coming...
Or how about this bark-free device that keeps dogs from barking? (I’m looking at YOU, Daphne the dog!) You can buy this for me too.
Emits a high-pitched sound whenever a dog barks, annoying the dog back.
Dual Colds
Marti and I both have colds; I’ve been nursing one for months, and was almost better before our Christmas trip. Marti got a cold (mine?) while traveling back from North Carolina (5 hours on a plane from Detroit to Phoenix = torment of Hades). Since we left at 7 a.m. and I was totally neurotic about getting to the airport (we traveled by air just a few weeks after 9/11/2001 and spent 2 hours inching through security, nearly missing our flight) we got up at 4:15 a.m. That’s 2:15 a.m. Tucson time, folks. We got home at 8 p.m. Tucson time. It was a very, very long day.
Needless to say, our diet of fudge and Dr. Pepper over the holidays didn’t help, and we are both very sick. Marti has mostly been a trooper, but I still have to post this video. The first time I saw it, I nearly died of laughter, and Marti was chagrined enough that he actually made me tea and soup the next time I was sick. May you have as much luck with your beloved; and now may I present: The “Man-cold.”
A Beautiful Article
Marti posted this article about Modern Love on his Twitter; it is a very nice read and worth reposting here.
Anyone who has been married for a long time starts to feel like a soldier surrounded by heavy casualties. In graduate school, a couple who married when we did failed to make it through a year. In my first job, we were one of four couples who got together almost every weekend; a few years later my wife and I were the only ones still together. Deep into our married life, five couples we knew, each together at least two decades, came apart in a single year, shells of separation bursting all around us.
. . .
And making all those changes in your address book affects your own marriage. When a close friend left his wife for someone much younger, my wife intensified her exercise regimen. Watching other couples break up also reminds me that divorce causes friends to choose between the two parties, and I would not like my chances.