Ok, I'm a tightwad. I own a 1984 mercedes benz.(300 DTD) Bought and paid for in the days when diesel was 50 cents a gallon. (It only went sky high in the last 4 or so) When the cost of diesel fuel went through the roof, along with gasoline prices, I decided that it was more economic for us to park the car that used the expensive fuel and drive the little gas saver. This all worked well until today. I went to the driveway, to give the car a crank, check the fluids and do some basic maintenance. Key in the ignition...turn...nothing. I don't mean weak, I mean nothing. This I thought was a bit strange, however, its been in the 100's here and well batteries don't get along with sweltering heat too well.
Step 2, pop the hood. Again, all seemed ok until I went to the front of the car and noticed that the pull apparatus was umm missing. Yes missing. You see, on the old benz there is what looks like a little pull tab, but you don't pull it you push it and voila, the hood latch disengages and poof, the hood opens. But its missing...now that's odd. Necessity being the mother of invention, and my penchant for wooden clothes hangers, I wondered if the metal hanger end was strong enough to pop that latch. Worth a try. And yep, it worked ! This would be easy enough. Attach the battery charger and while the battery gains new life, I can do the remainder of the maintenance and then be off to Birmingham for the funeral.
Well, hells bells Miss Agness..that was a little too easy...one major problem!
SOMEBODY STOLE THE FREAKIN BATTERY
And...boys and girls, this rocket scientist didn't simply remove the battery, he
CUT THE FREAKIN CABLE CONNECTION TO IT!
Now folks, I'm not dirt poor, well these days maybe. But the cost to repair this lovely car are going to be way out of my range. So, here goes. Its for sale. As is, for what ever anyone wants to use it for. Parts would be my guess. The engine still purrs like a kitten and the tranny's still good. So, if you know or live with a car freak, who wants to rehab a standard diesel burner into a veggie burner, this would be your car! Seriously, if you're interested in this car, use my contact form and give me a shout.
As to my bad attitude, well all I can say is its gonna be a whole lot worse if I ever get my hands on the moron who did this. This car wasn't a brand new playtoy, it was my transportation. My way out if I needed it. Now someone's taken that from me. And frankly, that worries me a bit.
So, as I sit here writing this rant, they are celebrating the Mass of the Ressurection for my dear aunt, may she finally rest in peace. I won't make the services, but I am with the family in prayer.
For the thief who needed my battery for drug money or worse. You took away my saftey net. You took away my way out. I hope your pleasure was worth that.
He never won any medals or ribbons. (Though he could have). He only won my heart.
He came to us, 4 weeks old. From a family of 10. Eight brothers and sisters. Mama refused to care for 
them. Daddy was helpless. That was Max.
He stayed with me for 17 years. (Longer than my first husband.) He was with me through the loss of a child, the end of a marriage, the death of my Granny, my Mom and my Dad. He was there when my son graduated middle school, high school and married his bride. He had been to a whole host of cities where we lived and visited. He'd even been to the Smithsonian. He played the best game of catch and nuzzled with me when I cried. He became my best friend, my soul mate, my staunchest defender.Max was a beautiful, blonde haired, brown eyed boy. A full blooded, cocker spaniel, who had NO clue he was a dog.
Over the years, he learned to fetch the keys, from places I didn't realize I'd left them, sit on his haunches and beg for treats after he had brought me the full bag, and jump flat footed into the driver seat of my VW Beetle (circa 1968) when he wanted to go for a ride.He could spell, yes spell, as well as any 7 year old. He knew the meanings of words. He was special.
One sunny summer morning, about a year ago, I woke early and padded toward the kitchen to make coffee. I noticed, Max, who usually was the first riser in the house, was laying in the hall. He must have gotten hot during the night, I thought. The cool tile on his belly must feel good. I called from the kitchen for him. No familiar answer back, no cold nose on my calf. I peered down the hallway, to see his big brown eyes looking up as he struggled to raise himself. "Ah hah", I mocked him, "Cold tile for you equals sore joints". I gingerly picked him up, carried him outside and carefully placed him on the grass in his favorite spot. He struggled again to raise himself, only to fall. My heart sank. Could he have had a stroke during the night? I held his back side so he could do his business, and then I noticed the blood in his urine.
I must have sounded like a mad woman, neighbors opened doors and peered out over balconies, one ran to my side. My husband, ran outside. All I could do was scream orders. "Bring me my keys, phone and his blanket", I shrieked.
At the vet's office, I held him close, nuzzled with him while the vet checked him out. Dr. V looked over his glasses at me, tears in his eyes. "It's time" was all he said. I held on to the exam table to keep from falling to the floor. I knew this day would come. But not today. I wasn't ready for this. Dear God, not today. I prayed that God would let him stay longer with me. I was selfish that way. But Max was 17 years old. For a cocker spaniel that's an old man. His kidney's had failed. His liver was too. It was time for me to be the grown up again. I'd had no choices, no power with death before. Surely this couldn't be the case here. Surely Dr. V could do something. This sweet, sweet man, who' d cared for all of our pets, wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'll give you a few minutes". I held my buddy close, I kissed his now dry nose, and promised him he'd hurt no more. Dr. V returned with a syringe and begged me to leave. "NO!!" "This guy has seen me though the last 17 years. No way am I leaving him now." I held him until the last breath left his body. They wrapped him in his blanket and we left. Max is buried under his favorite oak tree. In a yard where we no longer live. Max lives in my heart. Forever.
This article was written with some sweet inspiration from San Diego Momma, and PromTuesday . Drop by for your own inspiration and read some other great posts.
Continue reading about The Heart of A Lover, The Soul of A Champion.
I've heard this (or some variant) throughout my life, more times than I could ever count: "Your mother loved you enough to give you up." I remember specific instances when this was said to me as a child. Hearing it now, at 52, I want to puke. It makes me physically nauseous.
This pseudo warm fuzzy statement is supposed to make me feel good, feel as though I was/am important. It does neither. If you are not an adoptee, think about how it would feel for someone to say that to you as a child about YOUR mother. Would you feel loved if your mother gave you up?
Just to put this into perspective, let's try something - get up from your computer, walk to wherever your child is right this minute, lean over them and say, I can't take care of you, but I love you so much, I'm going to give you away to someone who can.
Did you do it? Did your child burst into tears? Did they look at you with horror? Of course you didn't get up and say that to your child and . Why? Because you know damn well that saying such a thing to your child would crush them, and it would devastate you to say it.
Go ahead, admit it, you'll feel better. Promise.
As an adoptee, I have heard a plethora of platitudes, cliches and one-liners which are designed to dictate how I am supposed to feel about my own adoption. I have been told the following: (presented in no particular order)
- You're so lucky.
- I wish I was adopted, my parents suck.
- You should be grateful, at least you're not in an orphanage.
- How can you feel that way? Look at all the things your parents gave you!
- That's so cool!
- Why would you want to search? They didn't want you.
- You were chosen. That makes you special.
- You should be happy someone wanted you.
- Why aren't you more grateful?
- Tell your parents they can adopt me. I'd be grateful for all the cool stuff they have.
- Why do you care about her ? She gave you away.
- Be grateful for what you've got.
- She didn't want you then, why would she want you now?
- What's wrong with you? You should just be thankful. There's a lot of kids who don't have a family.
- Adopted kids are all mentally deficient. Must be inbreeding.
If you think I'm kidding, think again. Sadly enough, these phrases only touch the tip of the iceberg. Most of them were said by adults, not by children.
I am 52 years old. I am a wife, a mother, a successful webmaster. I am a college graduate and have worked in the airline industry and hospitality. I have a masters degree. I am a philosopher. I own and operate the a women's network, designed for southern women on the internet. You're looking at it right now, reading this. I have a decent marriage, a home, 2 terrific grandkids, some food in my pantry and a gas in my car. I am grateful beyond all measure for these things.
I am also adopted. I can never be un-adopted. Aside from being born, it is the one event that most shaped how the rest of my life would unfold. I was born on one path, the path that involved my mother, then suddenly shoved down a new path - a path on which I would never see her again. A path that included none of my family or history. For this, I am to be grateful and comforted. Simply, by the idea that she loved me enough to - what? To never see me again? To never let me see her again? This is supposed to be a GOOD thing?
Tell me - would your son or daughter consider it a good thing if you sent them down a new path, one which did not include you?
So why should I consider it a good thing? Would you?
