I went to lunch, and then went shopping on the way home. When I got back to the van, the engine didn't turn over at all. Click-click-clickety-click. Argh. I called Rich and waited for him to bike over. It would have been nice if he'd done the typical husband thing, which usually frosts me, and gotten in and had the engine spring to life for the MALE touch. No such luck, so he took the groceries on the bike and I walked home. Hottest day in the last three weeks, mid-90s, of course. So I got in a mile-and-a bit walk despite my best intentions.

We've known this was apt to happen, and better that close to home than on Rodeo Beach last Sunday, for instance. Still, I detected the Universe punishing us for not working on Gold Fever! The coordinator did call us last Saturday, but wasn't there when we called back and hasn't gotten in touch again, and we just decided it was too much hassle for no compensation. (Yes, I know it's volunteer, but the Bible even says something about letting the oxen who trample the grain have some of it. Parking, a free admission, maybe a pin or badge, something. Gold Fever! is entirely out of the goodness of our hearts, and our hearts turn out not to be that good.) Of course, we could have worked 4 hours and then had this happen in the parking garage, too.

So Rich organized a tow (our favorite neighborhood tow-er, the "hookin' wetback", is gone! It's only been 9 years since we used him, how dare he quit or move!) and the garage, and we're essentially housebound. I called Sam and explained and talked about school.

Meanwhile, Vince called from Kalispell. The truck turns out not to be fixed. He'd spent $25 for a tow and a "there's nothing wrong" and then his friend's father knew a decent garage where the truck is now. Sigh. Vince was belt-sanding the back porch, so I'm assuming the father is telling his friends at the garage to keep the truck till the work is done at the house. (At least he's in a fair-sized city, with people he knows, not stuck out in the Badlands of South Dakota.) So I explained to him that I wasn't going to be able to come rescue him. (Drat. Sounds like fun.)

---
Maureen Dowd in the seventh circle of Hel... uh, buzz: Talk is cheap.

Paul Greenberg, in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette: "Poor Bill Clinton. It was bad enough when the bimbo eruptions were coming from outside the family".

I think that woman could do with some therapy! She is one very sick puppy.