After the rum, comes the reality

Melanie is still working on that parental move, as in she’s the kid, her parents are moving. She is our famous critique group member. She is a finalist in the mainstream category of the PNWA Literary contest for her historical fiction involving the antics of a teenage (non-mutant) girl disguised as boy on a British brigantine, when the British were not quite our friends, but not quite our enemies, 1800’s or so.

Melanie, on the other hand, is totally everyone’s friend, and the critique group is concerned about her dive into long distance moving and what affect that may have on her ability to write, especially after we heard that big crash.

She’s on the East Coast, by the way, we’re on the West.

Thursday 2:53 pm
~from Melanie~

The truck came for the 1930 Buick, but they have the main road closed due to the sidewalk collapse on the next street. We had to go pick up the woman truck driver in town. She parked the huge car carrier next to the Westborough Fire Station and rode back with us.

We had to change the tire and then we put a rope around the bumper and pulled it out of the garage. Very scary because we didn’t know if the brakes still worked and it is a slight incline. But they held.

Then we had to back it down the very long, very steep driveway and stop traffic on route 135 while my brother moved the van in front of the car. We had to keep traffic stopped until we could hook the car to the van, using a rope with about eight feet of clearance. Then Lori, the truck driver and my Uncle Jim jumped into the Buick and my brother and I jumped into the van and towed the car at 15mph down Route 135 to Church Street and out onto West Main where we had to negotiate the manic rotary where no one stops.


And each time we had to apply brakes, with only eight feet between us, my heart rate accelerated to 175 beats per minute.

We pulled in to the fire station and all the firemen came out and told us to move the car up just a little so they could get out if they got a call. Then they stood around and talked and examined the car while the Lori rearranged the Ferrari she already had in the car carrier and made room for the Buick. Because the Buick wasn’t running, she had to use a come-along and the firemen and my brother and uncle and I all pushed the car up onto the rear gate of the truck and then up onto the carrier until she could reach it with the come-along.

The whole thing took about 2.5 hours, and then we left and came back in time to run three more loads to the dump.


I’m so tired I might go to be at 7pm.

Oh wait, the neighbor just came over with a blender and tequila.


I say: Hide the rum. Bottoms up on the margaritas!

But other questions remain…

  • Who, actually in their right mind, goes to the liquor store only for boxes? [See yesterday’s post].
  • Who pushes a Buick out of garage without prior knowledge of the state of its brakes, pushes said Buick next to a Ferrari, and talks to ALL those firemen without ONCE mentioning if they were cute?

Melanie is insane.

I hope she wins a prize. But not for that.



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