My Dashboard

My fourteen year old Dodge Grand Caravan (which I've only known for nine of those years) has made four round trips from New Jersey to Disney World (well, 3-1/4 really), countless excursions to New York City, numerous forays to IKEA (in Elizabeth, NJ and our favorite in Conshohocken, PA) and has experienced neverending railfanning escapades. Except for major surgery in 2007 in Richmond, Virginia (yes...we had to leave it there for a new transmission and rent a van for the rest of the trip to Disney), it's been a real trooper. Naturally, though, along with our weary finances, the poor van has had to suffer through minor aches and pains without remedy. One of the most inconvenient maladies is the hit-or-miss dashboard. Sometimes it works, most times it doesn't. I am now a pro at judging my speed to within 2 mph. And, though I've come too close for comfort a few times, I have not yet run out of gas (knock wood!). This morning, after two full weeks in the dark, my dashboard finally decided to show itself again. Imagine my surprise when I received a response to my "Well, where have you been?"

Oh my. Have I been absent again? Dear, dear, dear. (The dashboard's voice was most definitely that of Edward Everett Horton, very much as he sounded in "Top Hat" with Fred and Ginger - see TCM.com)

It's been two weeks this time. I thought you were going for a new record.

Oh, heaven's no! Well, was it really two weeks? My, my, my. I simply can't imagine it's been that long. Two weeks, you say?

Uh-huh. (I happened to notice that an emergency stop at the nearest gas station was in my immediate future.)

Imagine that. Well, I simply have no recollection of it being that long. Certainly not. No recollection at all.

You do realize this has been going on for almost a year, don't you? And you're gone for longer periods of time than you're here!

Not really! You don't say? Well...what do you know? Hard to believe. Yes, yes. Just simply too hard to believe!

Apparently it's a huge job to fix, too. Any idea why you do it, or why you just can't stay on?

Oh no, none at all. Out of my control, I should imagine. Yes, that's it. Out of my control. Why, I don't even know when it happens. Comes from right out of the blue. Dear-oh-dear...right out of the blue!

If I ask nicely, can't you please stay a bit longer this time?

Love to. Yes, indeed, I'd simply love to. But, you see, I have nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I'm here and then I'm not. Just like that. Here, and then not.

(I pulled into the gas station and turned off the ignition, hope-hope-hoping that when I turned it back on Mr. Horton would still be there. As my luck would have it, the rest of the ride to work as absolutely silent. But, as least now instead of being frustrated that my dashboard doesn't work, I look forward to those rare occasions when Edward Everett Horton accompanies me for the ride. Oh yes, indeed!)

Iron

My mother does her laundry on Fridays and her ironing on Sundays. It's been like that ever since I can remember. I, on the other hand, do laundry when the hamper is full or when we nearly run out of towels, or if I need a particular dress for work. I iron - in a hurry - only on the mornings that I want to wear that particular dress. This morning was such an occasion. First I tried to quietly raise my deafeningly loud metal-on-metal screeching ironing board so as not to wake my entire sleeping family, and then I plugged in the iron so it could get hot while I brushed my teeth. I thought I heard a voice (other than the NPR host on the radio), so I turned off the water to see if someone was trying to tell me to hurry out of the bathroom. The voice, however, was coming from INSIDE the bathroom - specifically from the iron.

Oooooh. I just love the way this feels, don't you? (Imagine my surprise when, at 6:58 a.m., I distinctly heard Jean Arthur's cute little voice [see TCM.com] coming from my iron!)

You ean ow it's all ot? (Well, I did have a mouthful of toothpaste....)

Exactly...yes...well...that's just what I mean. You see, I just love that all-over warm feeling.

(What a perky appliance for so early in the morning! I swooshed the toothpaste out of my mouth, dried my face and turned to the iron.)  Gee, it's too bad you're my iron. You don' t get many opportunities to be anything but cold.

Oh, I don't mind. Really I don't. I'd much rather be warm a few times during the week than to get really hot all in one day. Besides, I've never been one to get all steamed up over things. I'd say I'm pretty even-tempered.

Well I do mostly only use the setting right in the middle....

Oh yes, yes, I have noticed that. You know, I've started to encourage the ironing board to take life's ups and downs a little less seriously and I think I may have finally succeeded in raising his spirits.

That's wonderful! Do you think he'll groan less when I'm done this morning?

Well...(she wrinkled her brow and gave me a kind of innocent, clueless look), it's a little hard to say, really. He sort of keeps his emotions covered up.  

(I finished pressing my dress and admit I was reluctant to unplug my sweet iron. Before reaching for the socket, I promised her that I'd wear my black flowered dress the next day - the one that absolutely needed to be ironed. And I swear that my ironing board did not creak as loudly when I lowered it!)   

Wallet

Ever since my finances took a nose dive several years ago, my poor wallet has not seen the light of day too often. It spends days, sometimes a whole week, nice and cozy in a zippered compartment in the sack I use as a pocketbook. Gone are the daily stops at Dunkin Donuts for morning coffee on my way to work, I pay my bills online, and I sometimes only go to the ATM for cash once every two weeks or so. I assumed my wallet was now accustomed to being cash less, without currency of any kind - even coins. Imagine my surprise when I went to place a ten and a five dollar bill in the paper money section and I heard the following shriek:

Oww!! What in the world are you doing? (My wallet sounded very much like Ruth Hussey - sassy as when she was in "The Philadelphia Story," not skeptical as she was in "The Uninvited" - see TCM.com. My reaction was to immediately pull the cash out of the wallet.) 

Oh, I beg your pardon. Did I startle you?

Startle? I think shock is a better word. You can't just suddenly shove a foreign object in my mouth and expect no reaction. After all, I'm only...

Human? I hate to break it to you, but you're not human. Just because you can speak...

Please don't put words in my mouth. For your information, I was going to say that I'm only used to you feeding me once or twice a month. This was totally unexpected! (She was absolutely right. This really was way off schedule. I found myself offering an explanation to my wallet.)

Oh, I see. It's just that I didn't get to the bank for allowances and stuff until this week end. I had a few extra dollars in the account, so I thought, well, it might be nice to actually have some extra cash for me...maybe treat myself to coffee. Know what I mean? 

Well, why didn't you just say so? I know you've been wearing your belt a little tighter this winter, so a little unexpected treat for us both is really quite nice. Well done! (Just as I was about to place my windfall in the wallet, my son informed me that he will going to the Junior Prom in two weeks. Two weeks! There will have to be some serious juggling with my account, and that $15 will simply have to go for the prom.)

Well, it was nice while it lasted, huh? I promise to be more receptive next time.

Next time?  (I replaced the empty wallet back in my sack.)  I don't think I'd count on it! 


  

Flashlight

We've been having some incredibly intense thunderstorms this season and our power has gone from flickerings to brown outs to black outs, which rarely ever used to happen. Since it seems to be our natural state of affairs to always be unprepared, this last power outage found us fumbling around by candlelight looking for the one and only flashlight we own - which was supposed to be in the kitchen on the bookcase next to the fridge. Naturally, it wasn't there. As a joke, I started calling: "Here flashy-flashy-flashy...here flashy-flashy." Imagine my surprise when I heard the following feeble reply:

Over here. I-I'm over here.

The voice had a distinct German accent and I don't know why, but I immediately thought of Albert Einstein. I headed over toward the junk drawer near the sink (as opposed to the junk drawer under the coffee-maker counter) and waved the candle over the contents. I caught a glimmer of its shiny silver aluminum casing and triumphantly pulled it from under a blanket of pens, pencils and half-crayons. "I found it!!" I proclaimed while waving it victoriously in the air.

Ohhh...(he implored in a whisper)...please don't move me about like that. The motion and the velocity are making me queasy.

Oh, I am so sorry. You just have no idea how happy we are to have found you! (I pushed the switch, hoping to flood the room with light, but it seemed to illuminate no better than the candle.) Uh, I think it needs batteries. (I shone the golden glow back into the junk drawer and miraculously discovered two "AA" batteries. The transformation in the flashlight was instantaneous.)

Ah! I feel so...so...so full of energy! ( A window rattling thunder clap caught me off guard and I very nearly dropped the flashlight. By now, my family was gathered together in the den, waiting impatiently for the flashlight and I to join them.)

We'd better go shed some light on the situation.

Yes, yes...to be sure (the flashlight concurred). After all, light from a candle or light from a flashlight...it's all relative!

Fly

I was sitting on a cushioned bench outside of the college testing center waiting for my 11-days-away-from-being-sixteen year old son to complete the final exam for his fifth college course (yes, I am most definitely bragging!) when a noisy fly decided it was her obligation to keep me company. My wild flailing and signs of annoyance indicated no discouragement to her. Finally, I just shouted, "Oh, go a-way!" and was shocked when I heard a whimpering reply.

Gee whizzzzz. I wazzzzz only trying to be pleazzzzzant. (She sniffed indignantly as she landed on the wall between my bench and the empty one closest to me.)

Well, maybe if you just stopped buzzing by my ears I wouldn't mind so much.

But that'zzzzz how I wazzzzz taught to get attention.

Didn't anyone ever tell you that's also a great way to get killed?

You mean people kill fliezzzzz? Why, I simply can't believe it. You mean to say that you actually think I'm annoying?

Look, I don't mean to be mean, but flies are...well...very dirty.

But I clean myzzzzzelf conzzzzztantly! (It was true. She was rubbing her, uh, hands together that very moment.)

What I mean is that you carry germs from one place to another to another. Every time you land somewhere....

But...(Her little body began to shake. I wasn't sure if it was due to her whimpering or because she was, well...leaving germs.) I...I never intend any harm. I just go about my own businezzzzz.

(I generally despise flies, but this one just seemed so different than the average run-of-the-mill fly. I found myself examining her for reassurance that she wasn't like the fly in the movie, "The Fly" -- you know, fly body/human head. She was all fly. By now, though, she was visibly sobbing.)

I eat (sob)...I nap (sob)...I...I...I fly (wail). And people are alwayzzzzz swatting at me. I just want to be friendzzzzz! (I suddenly remembered a verse from the song, "Human Fly" that goes: "I cry 98 tears from 98 eyes." Oh, I felt so sad for that little forlorn fly!)

Uh, if you promise not to land on me or my coffee cup, I'd be happy to be your friend....

(But before another word could be spoken, a guy with a jelly doughnut and a soda sat down on the bench next to mine. The little fly took off like a bullet towards the goodies and as I walked away to join my son, I saw the guy flailing his arms and yelling, "Oh, just go a-way!")

Smoke Alarm

Last night when I went to bed, a Nor'easter was predicted for our area: high winds, flooding rains - perfect weather to snuggle under our cozy comforter. I slept soundly through the night...no rattling windows, howling wind or heavy downpours could rouse me from my sweet slumber. No, that was left to the smoke detector. Exactly one hour before the alarm clock was to sound, the smoke detector in our bedroom decided to announce that it needed a new battery. Beep (pause) beep (longer pause) double beep (pause and repeat). I thought of putting the pillow over my head, but then I was afraid I wouldn't hear the clock - in the highly unlikely event that I would actually fall back asleep, that is. Frustrated, I sat on the edge of the bed and glared at the smoke detector.

You couldn't wait just one more stupid hour, could you?

Oh, no. Naturally not. Certainly not. (The voice was most assuredly that of Alastair Sim--though not as he sounded when he was playing mean, crotchety Ebenezer Scrooge in the only really good film adaptation of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," but rather as the softer, wiser Scrooge after his spirited evening.) If it had indeed been me, that is.

(I must admit it was I who most closely resembled the nasty, ill-tempered miser at the moment.) One hour! I could have been cozy for one whole hour longer! Why, oh why, couldn't you have just waited?

Oh, dear me, no. (A sudden gust of wind literally shook the rafters.) It would have been inexcusable. Simply inexcusable. If it had indeed been me, that is.

(By now it registered to my sleepy brain that our bedroom smoke detector was denying that it had beeped. But then, there it was again: beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) A-ha! It IS you!

No, madam, I'm afraid it is not. Perhaps you're just imagining it. Or it might be part of a nightmare brought on, perhaps, by a bit of undigested beef or an underdone potato....

(Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat]. I hurriedly slipped my feet into my slippers and shuffled over to stand directly beneath the smoke alarm. I cocked my head to listen more intently to the beeps, and, in actual fact, I was no longer certain that they were coming from our smoke detector. I opened the bedroom door and stood in the hall, waiting for the next round of beeps. No, the sound was definitely coming from our bedroom. My zombie-like daughter, son and husband all confirmed it. After scurrying around to find a battery and making sure my half-asleep husband didn't fall off the ladder replacing it, I crawled back under the covers for a dreamy twenty-five minutes more of sleep. But then it happened. Beep [pause] beep [longer pause] double beep [pause and repeat].) Nooohoho! This can't be happening!

Please, I beg you...do not doubt your senses! Ignore not the beeps!

(Oh, that was just so funny. How do you ignore incessant beeping? After disconnecting the entire apparatus from the ceiling, my husband flung it onto the loveseat at the foot of our bed. It was then that we were apparently transported into an episode of The Twilight Zone, because the phantom beeping started again.) This is insane! It won't die! (We all stood under the hole where the smoke alarm once hung, staring in disbelief at what was happening. Then my son very calmly asked this simple question: Umm, don't you guys have a carbon monoxide detector in your room?) Aagghhhhh! (Hidden behind a chair hidden behind mounds of "stuff" was, indeed, a carbon monoxide detector. We pulled it out of the socket, interpreted the sequence of beeps to indicate a low battery, removed the battery and...stopped the beeping! My husband replaced the smoke detector and he and my children went back to sleep. I promised the carbon monoxide detector on the loveseat that I would get it a new battery, too, and then addressed the smoke detector.)

Oh, I don't know what to do. (Then I laughed a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The mother of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.) Well, I guess you can tell I'm not a happy riser! Thanks for being so darned polite about the whole thing.

Think nothing of it, my dear. I never intended to alarm you. (And didn't I know it!)


(P.S. - a nod to Mr. Dickens for this one!)

Fake Moustache

One of the presents my daughter gave to my teenage son this past Christmas was a set of fake moustaches. He's always making incredibly funny videos and since he sometimes plays multiple roles, she thought they might come in handy. I don't think they've made it into any videos yet, but my son has surprised his railfanning friends more than once by showing up with a hilariously hairy upper lip. Today he hopped out of the car looking like he was a member of an 1890's barbershop quartet. When his pals were done laughing, he peeled it off and put it in the car to keep me company. I am no longer surprised when inanimate objects speak to me, but when a moustache sounds exactly like C. Aubrey Smith [see TCM.com], I must admit I was slightly taken aback.

(Harumph!) I say, it's a bit tricky still having the sticky part exposed. Be a good girl and reattach the paper, what ho!

(Being the good girl that I am, I carefully aligned the moustache with the backing paper and gently placed it in the cup holder for safe keeping.) Better?

Much, much. Capital job. Yes, yes. Capital (Harumph!) I daresay that fellow looked rather dashing with my assistance. I'm sure you'd agree?

(Considering that I think he's quite good looking to begin with and that I didn't want to hurt the moustache's feelings, I agreed, then changed the subject.) It must be nice to know that you're...well, uh...reusable?

My dear child, as long as there are roles to play, my usefulness will never be in doubt. Why (harumph!) the young lad may yet star me in one of his pictures!

Well, I'm not quite sure you'd be the star, but....

Oh - quite right. Yes, yes - quite right. (He sniffed rather loudly.) Must keep a stiff upper lip, you know. Supporting character (harumph!)...that's my lot. Yes, yes.

(Oh, I had really created a sticky problem.) You know, now that you mention it, he recently told me the plot to one of his upcoming videos. Something about how a moustache saves a wrongly accused man....

Why, I say! That would be perfect for me! Many's the time I've dreamed of rescuing the hero from a hairy situation. Yes, yes! Perfect.

My son was finally done railfanning, so I decided to cheer up the moustache ever further by asking my son to wear it on the way home. I was just about to reach for the moustache when my son - with what seemed to be superhuman speed - slammed his condensation-dripping ice-melting soda cup into the holder. "Noooooo!" I screamed in slow motion. I quickly handed the cup back to my surprised son. I felt the bottom of the wet cup holder and raised the soaked, limp now sticky-free moustache. Despite its utter droopiness, I am certain I still heard a determined "Harumph!"