Super-Powered Minivan
I have always liked my '98 Mercury Villager minivan. Today I discovered that it has an amazing ability that I never knew about. It can, all by itself, scoop up a diaper-bag-sized rock, carry it some distance, and then refuse obstinately to part with it--that is, not until Grant has grunted and muttered, and shoved and kicked and wiggled it every way he could think of. And I have turned the steering wheel to get the tire angled right, and, most helpful of all, I have gotten out of the vehicle to survey the damage, thereby raising the body of the minivan enough to give the rock more wiggle room.
On my way to school this morning, I backed hurriedly out of the parking space adjoining the driveway in front of the house. I felt the front tire go up and over one of the limestone rocks that form an edging around the front flower bed. Turned too short, I knew. Should have backed out straight before turning, but, HELLO, I was in the driveway prepared to go forward when I realized that the sound of the bumper scraping over the top of the rock had followed me all the way out of the parking spot. When I checked, one rock plucked out of its tidy curving row was snuggled very tightly between the tire and the inside of the wheel well, also sort of cradled into the inside curve of the front bumper.
Grant fortunately had not yet fired up his motorcycle to drive to work, and was within earshot of the alarming noises from the parking area. "WHY--did--you--turn--so--short?" he asked, hurrying over. If there's a face-saving way of answering questions like that, I haven't found it.
Nevertheless, I proceeded on my way eventually with more feelings of gratitude than self-flagellation. Even the bumper is not scarred. Why should I be?
"Amish Woman Demonstrates Minivan's Super-powers." Maybe there's a thought in that imaginary headline that I can work into a smart answer the next time I have to answer a dumb question about my reasons for turning or not turning the steering wheel of my minivan in certain ways at certain times.
On my way to school this morning, I backed hurriedly out of the parking space adjoining the driveway in front of the house. I felt the front tire go up and over one of the limestone rocks that form an edging around the front flower bed. Turned too short, I knew. Should have backed out straight before turning, but, HELLO, I was in the driveway prepared to go forward when I realized that the sound of the bumper scraping over the top of the rock had followed me all the way out of the parking spot. When I checked, one rock plucked out of its tidy curving row was snuggled very tightly between the tire and the inside of the wheel well, also sort of cradled into the inside curve of the front bumper.
Grant fortunately had not yet fired up his motorcycle to drive to work, and was within earshot of the alarming noises from the parking area. "WHY--did--you--turn--so--short?" he asked, hurrying over. If there's a face-saving way of answering questions like that, I haven't found it.
Nevertheless, I proceeded on my way eventually with more feelings of gratitude than self-flagellation. Even the bumper is not scarred. Why should I be?
"Amish Woman Demonstrates Minivan's Super-powers." Maybe there's a thought in that imaginary headline that I can work into a smart answer the next time I have to answer a dumb question about my reasons for turning or not turning the steering wheel of my minivan in certain ways at certain times.
posted by Mrs. I at
2:54 PM
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