the Walnut Diary

It is 11:37 p.m., Friday, 13 December, 2019, and nothing terrible has happened to me yet today.

When I woke up and stumbled downstairs to coffee and my MacBook, I was surprised that the computer was off when I opened it, and then that it took about ten minutes to load a new operating system.  Somebody at Apple must have a wicked sense of humour to send that clunker out on a Friday 13th.

But it came back from the dead and even ran a little better than usual.  I resolved to select the safest possible activities for the day, especially activities which did not involve plumbing or heating systems,  electricity or engines.

So I went for a walk.  There was a bit of fresh snow on the trail, and a cat-sized creature had walked along the trail ahead of me, unhurriedly moseying along, casually looking for a mouse, I guess.  On top of the cat’s tracks was a set of fox tracks, moving more quickly, and keeping in mind the cat’s destination.  A pair of coyotes covered the other two tracks with their unbelievably fast movements all over the trail and the field and hedge, quick stops to pick up a mouse or two, and on again, tirelessly.  These tracks put me in mind of that fishy food pyramid, with each character about to be eaten by a bigger one overtaking it, but I saw no evidence of any conflict among the cat, the fox, and the coyote family.

Back at the house, I grew tired of reading about Andrew Scheer.  Now that guy, the Conservative leader, he was having a bad day today.  But I was running out of safe things to do, so I decided to take the car for a bath in Elgin.  The local car wash has warm water but no soap.  Still, the lineups aren’t long, it’s cheap, and the water washes the salt off.

But I drove by my Ranger, languishing in the yard of the small engines place.  Omigosh, it’s fixed.  Uh-oh.  Here comes a catastrophic bill.  I went on and washed the car, working up my nerve, then boldly pulled in, parked, and presented my wallet to Cory, the owner of the business.

“New car, Rod?”

“No, I’ve had it about 7 months, and it’s a 2014.”

Cory’s questioning clarified that I still had the Cayenne, but wasn’t driving it much because of the new hybrid which is cheap and interesting.

“So, are you ready to sell the Cayenne to me?”  He handed me the bill, a reasonable sum.  All I could think was that I was expecting some head-boggling bit of ironic disaster, and here a guy wants to buy my old car, by any standard a good thing.  What day is this, anyway?  I muttered something non-comital, thanked him and went home to get the Cayenne and trailer to pick the Ranger up.

So the disaster would either be with the Porsche or the Polaris or the trailer.  But they all worked as they should.

And so it went for the rest of the day, until the dot of midnight.  It is now Saturday the 14th.

Maybe it’s time I grew out of my long-standing case of triskaidekaphobia.  I don’t think I’ll risk the stairs for a midnight snack, though.