Vehicular tricks no cause for celebration

Every six months or so, my car learns a new trick.

I have this vision of my vehicle as an oversize canine, wagging its tail - in this case, its trunk - with delight as it shows me its latest discovery, something it no doubt cooked up sitting bored in the parking lot while I toil away at work, in effort to pay off the bills still lingering from the last trick it picked up.

"See? I figured out how to make my windshield wipers quit working even though it's raining!"

"See, Matthew, I learned how to make steam emerge from beneath the hood! Aren't you proud of me?"

"Look Matthew, I decided to get a flat mere moments before you leave for your appointment in Wilson Creek!"

I wish I knew where it picked up these things. Probably off the streets, or some smart-aleck jalopy who's a bad influence. I've got to get smarter about where I park my car.

Then it sits there, all proud, while I look around and ask, perhaps not for the first time today, why I even bothered getting out of bed this morning.

It can get a bit disheartening at times, especially since I'm so mechanically challenged that any firm knowledge I have of my car's inner workings is shaky at best.

I believe cars and computers work on magic, until they don't work anymore, at which point it's time to call upon a sorcerer.

Fortunately, my mechanically-gifted father in Spokane and a Moses Lake mechanic have helped me keep the car alive based solely upon prayer, their skill, a little elbow grease and a few voodoo curses thrown in for good measure.

Hey, anything to get me from Point A to Point B safely and intact.

It'll eventually get fixed. They always eventually get fixed, thank heavens, since I can't really afford a new car at this point. Even a car which is simply new to me. Another good reason to keep up the voodoo curses.

And when it does get fixed, I breath a sigh of relief and anxiously check my calendar, looking ahead to try and anticipate the next trick six months from now.