Voodoo Still

As I have reported, I just spent $2,000 repairing the Xterra.  I was happy, though, for it felt good and was running great.  

For about ten minutes.  

I had plans for Sunday.  I had just received a delivery of cheap "linen" pants from China.  I can't help myself.  The pictures that pop up on my feed sell me.  In this case, though, they were just about perfect  for me in every way but one--they were too big.  The waist and the length.  But otherwise, I loved them and for only a couple of kopeks.  That's what happens when you buy from China online.  You never know.  I decided, however, that I could get them tailored for about twice what I paid for the pants--and I would. In the meantime, I just ordered two more pairs, L instead of XL.  Why did I order XL?  Oh, don't tell this to anyone, but I asked ChatGPT which size I should order.  Shhh. 

In my closet, I have had a pair of leather Nike Air something or others that Tennessee had given me that are pretty cool but too small, and I wondered if I could get them stretched to fit.  I asked. . . Chat. . . and it told me yes, leather shoes were the easiest thing to stretch.  I Googled "cobblers near me" and came up with a few that were closed on Sunday, BUT--DSW Shoes, the big outlet store, was open AND they had a shoe repair department.  So I called.  It was an automated voice, but it told me that yes, they definitely stretched shoes.  

I had a plan.  I was going to drop off postcards at the post office then continue on to DSW, drop off the shoes, then go to Whole Foods to get fixin's for dinner.  

Dropping off the postcards went smoothly.  

When I got to the strip mall that housed DSW, the parking lot was packed with Sunday shoppers.  Miles of blacktop to cross.  The air was a pressure cooker, that air that lets you know a monsoon is in the offing.  Still, I was happyish because I was getting things done.  

I thought.  But this is a tale of woe.  No luck.  They didn't stretch shoes.  

Piss shit fuck goddamn.  O.K.  I'd stop at the gas station and fill up my ready to go Xterra.  

"Hey, Boss. . . . hey. . . ." 

I heard a voice.  Me?  Yea.  

"Your radiator's leaking."

I walked around to the front of the car.  It sure was.  Steaming coolant covered the cement.  

"That's not good."

"No it isn't."

I was two miles from home.  Could I make it?

Barely.  The thermostat was climbing fast and I hit every long light on the highway.  I'll have to call the repair shop today.  

What had I accomplished?  Nothing.  The voodoo doll was certainly working for somebody.  Could she still be hating on me now?  Really?  I'd been nothing but good.  I never got it.  Haven't still.  But a hater's gotta hate and there is nothing you can do about that.  Thieves of things and good names.  Sometimes you can't help but be a victim.  

I'd put the pants through a wash cycle and had thrown them in the dryer by themselves.  I was hoping to shrink them.  Don't throw a pair of pants in the dryer by themselves.  They just roll around in a ball.  I hadn't helped myself here, either.  They are so wrinkled now, I will have to iron them.  Funny.  I don't own an iron.  

The monsoon hit just as I was preparing to head back to mom's.  I got a call.  It was mom's across the street neighbors.  I didn't answer.  They left a message.  They thought I needed to get back to my mother's house because of the storm.  WTF?  I considered giving them a little helpful advice, too, but only for a second.  

I called my mother.  What did she want for dinner?

Soup.  She couldn't eat anything solid.  I had to think.  Could I get away with not going to the grocers in a monsoon?  Sure.  I'd figure something out.  

What I figured out first was a four-thirty cocktail.  At five, I put on the soup.  Chicken noodle.  I'd drop an egg in it.  Oops.  No eggs.  I put garbanzo beans in instead.  I asked my mother if she wanted any sardines.  Oh no, she said.  I opened a can of Patagonia sardines, just three big headless fish in a can.  I couldn't find any good crackers and had to go with mom's Saltines.  First bite was "ugh."  I got some mustard.  Much better, but it didn't really match with the wine.  Shitty dinner.  We watched Norway/Brazil.  Nail biter.  The underdogs won.  It was exciting and now I was drinking a real drink.  

Six-thirty.  Mexico/England would be coming on.  I put on the second half of "The Great Beauty."  My mother sits slumped in a chair all day and night until I want to watch something like this.  Then she is peripatetic.  She can't sit still.  She stands in slow motion, looks around, moves slothlike toward the sink, bangs things around, turns back (Slowly she turns, step by step, inch by inch), opens and bangs shut the cabinet doors over and over as she looks for something unknown, then sits and slides objects around on the wooden table.  

"It stopped raining."

I pause the movie . 

"What?"

"It looks like it stopped raining." 

"Oh."

Yes, yes. . . I am going insane.  And I feel terrible, too.  She is suffering and I am helpless to give physical relief.  What sort of life is that, a life of pain and suffering?  I do not think I would be such a god.  I do not think I could come up with such a plan.  I am not as strong as she, though.  She lives with the suffering better than I can with this abject helplessness.  

I have nothing to distract me here at mom's, though, but the television and this computer.  When I watch t.v. she is always like that, suffering just to the right of me.  She won't go to bed until I do no matter if it is nine or midnight.  My presence must succor her in some way.  

I turned on the soccer match.  It takes no concentration or thinking.  Now she simply sits still.  Maybe she like soccer.  I don't know, but it was an incredible match, and England won.  Quite a thing.  

So today is dealing with the car.  I'll take my wrinkled pants to some tailor.  Then I will go to the grocers and come back to the house to make dinner and watch the U.S. play Belgium.  Trump has taken a shit on that game, though, and has sullied anything the U.S. touches on the world stage.  It doesn't matter if the team wins or loses today--no matter at all.  They have already lost.  Trump made certain of that.