The Wonderful Wizard of Bob

Renee thinks I have mystical powers. You see just by mentioning that it may be time to trade in the car I can cause it to do strange things. Never mind that it was starting to do strange things before I said anything. I am still magical!

The Cash for Clunkers program got me to thinking about replacing at least one of the workhorses in our current fleet of vehicles. Fleet, you say? Yes, a fleet of two has been carting us around for years. Old Paint, my reliable little pick-up that is about to turn twenty, didn’t qualify for the program. Apparently, it is neither a car nor a truck. I’ve always known it was unique but now Congress has confirmed it. Now I need our fine legislators to pass a bill that gives me a big fat stimulus payment for my unclassifiable vehicle. Really, shouldn’t I receive some kind of special stipend for buying a fuel efficient vehicle back when it was en vogue to pilot the biggest darn gas guzzling land yacht around? I’m sure they know my address. Please spell my name right on the check.

Our other car, the one Renee thinks is hers, is an eight year old Volvo wagon. It is in pretty good shape but is starting to show its age. And yes, somehow this one qualified as a clunker despite the book value being well over the maximum rebate allowance. Every repair, no matter how minor, comes with a $1,000 price tag. It doesn’t matter what it is, $1,000. Bulb out in the back, well, you need a whole new light panel, $1,000. Squeak in the brake pedal, that’s a bad seal on the anti-lock compressor, $1,000. Car’s dirty, you need a soil demagnetizing solution rinse, $1,000. You get the picture, we’re getting hosed. It is not a bad car, we like it, but the repair bills are starting to mount up to where it may be costing us more to keep than a new car under warranty would. Renee also thinks I put a curse on the car by mentioning trade-in causing all of the recent problems. Praising the car doesn’t fix it though. My wizardry may only work one way.

We all know how much a new car costs these days so we’re going to try to milk a few more good years out of these two wonderful machines. I’ll need to come up with some enchanting incantations to reverse the curse on the Swedish import in order to make it happen, but not to worry, I’ve just picked up a book of spells for, you guessed it, $1,000.

Now what’s this got to do with this blog about family health you’re asking? Everything I say. This is September in the Ohio Valley. The pollen count is so high it affects everything, even our cars. The air is so thick it clogs up the car’s air filter along with everyone’s immune system. The schools are empty from all the allergy induced absences. The parents are hiding under the covers with belly aches and sniffles and low grade fevers. We’re all scratching at our eyeballs, sucking down Sudafed and clutching the Kleenex.

Renee and Cassidy have both been hit with flu-like symptoms. Renee’s immune system is so overworked she can’t fend off any of the bugs that the little buggers in the pre-school spread about. Cassidy has already spoiled her perfect attendance record. I have never experienced allergies before moving to Kentucky but now commiserate with the rest of the itchy sneezers.

Everyone is just miserable from the poor air quality. It brings out the worst in people. Normally calm drivers are blowing their horns and fighting their way through traffic like they’re crazed New York cab drivers. The weather has been great, coaxing us outside into the late summer sunshine, compounding the illness factor. Despite the near perfect temperature, I’m eager for that first frost so I may be able to take a breath without tasting ragweed.

Lately, my creative juices have all been directed toward battling this seasonal bombardment. Too clogged to blog I was. But I am back. And just in time to keep you up to speed with the countdown to what we hope is Renee’s final surgery. The culmination of the invasive triad is just a tad over three weeks away. I hope to use my new found magical powers to amaze you with the antics of our favorite patient. I’ll bet you’ve never seen anyone pull a rabbit out of an ostomy bag, have you? The tricks I have up my sleeve are endless and I know my faithful assistant will not let us down. The suspense is building. Don’t even think about taking your eyes off of the screen.