Bony Fingers

The window's fixed. I thik it turned out to be their fault after all, because after telling me that they had to go to Springfield and that they couldn't figure it out at all, they suddenly called and said they'd be here in a couple of hours and fixed it lickety split with no explanation. Not that I'm complaining. I have an intact window again, that's enough for me.

The second sleeve is progressing sloooooowly. I despair of ever finishing it, and consequently of ever starting or finishing anything else, although I have the yen to knit.

Tired, stressed, house unsold, move unmoved, feeling stuck in the mud in every meaning of the phrase.

"Work your fingers to the bone and whattaya get?

Bony fingers, bony fingers"



Here's what happened: My grass was really really long, and it's hard to sell a house that way. So my friend (who shall remain nameless, but who is kindly if a bit bumbling) agreed to cut it for me, as it is impossible for me to simultaneously run large sharp machinery and keep a 2 year old in one piece. Great! Short grass, everybody's happy.

When my friend got done, the rear windshield of my car was shattered. Not cracked, not dented, completely, totally, freakin' shattered. The mower apparently kicked up a stone. Damn. But, in this state, auto glass is automatically covered by your insurance, no questions asked. And the repair people come to your house or place of work and fix it for you. It's easy-peasy, mac-and-cheesy. I found a shop in the phone book that advertised weekends and holidays and late nights (this happened, of course, on Saturday evening). After some phone hassles (Mercury is retrograde after all), it was all set. They even connected me to my insurance company to get the paperwork taken care of.

So, we were stuck here Sunday. It was kind of nice. No driving anywhere, quiet day, got some stuff done, M.M. got to rest up from the long day Saturday. Monday morning dawns, bright and clear (ok, so it was cloudy. Still, it wasn't actually raining). The glass place calls at 9am, I'm first on the list of calls today. "I'll be there in a few minutes, ma'am". Great!

He shows up as promised, and I am cheery with anticipation of a fixed window. Here it comes, though: He's got the wrong part. He's confused; it looks like the right label on the box, but the window clearly won't fit my car. He calls the shop. They surmise that the factory put the wrong window in the right box. Sorry, we'll have to get another one and come back tomorrow. Nothin' we can do, ma'am.

I'm deflated, slightly pissed, unsure what to do with the day now. Shall I try to get someone to pick us up? I am supposed to go to work. It could wait until tomorrow, but that kind of throws off the whole week. I call around a little, but no one particularly wants to ferry us around today. So, change of plans, another quiet day at home. It actually goes ok. We relax, more of the same, don't get too stir crazy. I do get a sore ear from being on the phone too much. Mercury's retrograde, isn't that a bitch?

Today dawns, bright and clear (yes, really). Again, I'm cheery with anticipation. Gosh, we need to go to the grocery store by now. I really have to go to work today. At 8:30am the phone rings - those guys are efficient! But the voice on the phone tells me they can't figure out which window I need. All the boxes seem to have the same window in them, the one that is obviously the wrong size and shape for my car. My heart sinks. My ruined day flashes before me. I make meaningless demands of the woman at the glass shop "Well, you've got to do something because I've been stuck here for three days now!" She's sending the branch manager to look at my car personally and try and figure out what's going on.

He shows up an hour later, with a book full of outline drawings of every car in America. The book stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the true shape of my rear windshield, insisting that it is flat with sharp corners rather than curved and rounded. Branch Manager is stumped. I make useless suggestions: "Have you called the dealer?" "Do you want to look at my owner's manual?" No dice, on either count. I try to remain calm. He takes my VIN number and vows to drive to the distribution center (or whatever it is) and let me know what he finds out.

I guess I'm going to have to rent a car.



I've crossed some sort of threshold... I dreamed about knitting last night. This is good. Maybe it means I'll finish this sweater finally!