Stuck In the Ice!

[mallorys_camera]

So yesterday morning, I trekked down to the car feeling exactly like little Eliza in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, leaping from ice floe to ice floe—

A politically incorrect joke, I realize. Trump’s reelection has brought politically incorrect jokes back into the mainstream. I am a big fan of politically incorrect jokes, so I intend to take full advantage since this may be the only positive thing associated with Trump’s reelection.

But lo & behold! When I started the car, it would not move!

And that’s because the left front tire was frozen into the ice.

I then proceeded to do exactly the wrong thing: Namely, I stepped down hard on the gas pedal—which only succeeded in getting the right front tire stuck in the mud where it, too, promptly froze since temperatures were in the low teens.

So! Go to the Gardiner Library to be a TaxBwana, or stay home & deal with the car? What to do, what to do…

I opted to TaxBwana! Called Steve, the very nice Gardiner TaxBwana site coordinator who very kindly drove out to Wallkill to pick me up.

Had a very busy day. Four clients in five hours, including two prison guards at the Wallkill Correctional Facility, penitentiaries being the only local industry in this part of Ulster County. He was a Vietnam special ops guy who in retirement has become an expert on the types of weapons used in the Spanish-American War; she was an expert quilter.

Then, I did this incredibly irritating woman who just would not shut up—mucho distracting when you’re trying to concentrate on the finer points of entering 1099-R forms into the tax-computing software. She was nattering on & on & on about the horrible drive in from High Falls down ice-covered roads, but I, who had my own automotive perils to deal with, did not want to hear about ice-covered roads.

"Did you grow up around here?" I asked brightly in an attempt to stave off more road horror tales.

"Oh, I did, I did. But I lived most of my adult life in the City."

"And what did you do in the City?"

"Oh, the usual. Worked humiliating jobs for shit wages, and realized my life was going nowhere." She grinned mirthlessly.

###

Around 2 pm, I went outside to call Ellen. "Hey, would you be able to take me shopping tomorrow so I can buy some groceries?"

"Sure," Ellen said, "but what's going on with your car?"

"Oh, it's frozen into the ground. But the temps are supposed to be going back up in 10 days, so I'll be able to drive it again then—"

"Patrizia, don't be ridiculous! You can't go 10 days without a car! Not here."

After listening to my car story, she announced that she was going straight over to my house to dig out my car. "What time are you finished with the tax thingy?"

"Around 3:30—"

"Great! So, I'll be around to give your car a little push if you need it, and you'll be able to start your car."

###

Three-thirty came and went. No end in sight to the poor, the anguished, the taxpayers.

I called Ellen.

"Well, I've got you dug out," she announced cheerfully. "But your two front tires are still pretty frozen into the ice. I don't want to dig too hard around them 'cause I don't want to damage them. But I'm thinking with a little push—"

"You can push my car?" I asked doubtfully. Priuses may look little, but they're deceptively heavy."

"Easy, peasy. I'm gonna go home now to warm up. Call me when you get home."

###

Four o'clock came & went. Then it was 4:30, and the last taxpayer was fixing their John Hancock to the 1040.

I called Ellen.

"Thank you, Ellen, for everything you've done for me today. I am so incredibly grateful! But I am really exhausted, & all I want to do is go to bed and watch Law & Order—"

"Patrizia," she said, "tonight the temp is going down to 7°. And that means the tires are gonna freeze again. The sun was out today even though it was cold, so the car is kinda sitting in a pool of water. I mean, you should do whatever you want to do, of course, but you are a strong lady, and you can do this—"

So, when I got back home, I called Ellen to come back, and together we tackled the car.

It took us another hour and a half of rocking the damn thing, and then chiseling and hammering more ice from the tires.

But finally, we got it to drive.

It is now parked at the head of the driveway, near the house, and shortly, I'm gonna drive to the store and buy kiska feed all on my very own.

"You are my hero!!" I cried, embracing her. "I am so very, very grateful—"

Physical demonstrations of affection make Ellen uncomfortable.

"I got your back, Sis," she said, wiggling backwards out of my arms.

I went inside the house where—thanks to Icky forgetting to order heating oil once again—the thermostat was registering a frigid 34°.

Raced upstairs to the Patrizia-torium to switch on the space heater.

The space heater labored mightily, but its brave efforts weren't able to bring the temperature of the Patrizia-torium much above 56°.

I was so exhausted I had to force myself to eat.

And though I piled on the blankets so I was warm enough, I had a hard time sleeping. PTSD, I suspect.

###

This morning, the heating oil guy showed up early. He had to tromp through 20 yards of solid ice to get to the oil outlet, and then he came inside to bleed the line and start the furnace.

"I don't understand why your landlord can't do what every other homeowner around here does and get a contract so we monitor your oil usage and deliver more oil before it runs out," he said.

"He doesn't get a contract because he is a dick," I explained.

And really, that is all that can be said about that.

###

It Is What It Is.

Life is good except when life is bad, and the good and the bad are wrapped around one another like that Escher print of the hand drawing the hand.