I hate car problems!

Today my shiny new car died twice in rush-hour traffic. Died as in lost power. Right there at a red light. Twice.

I just had the car in for its oil change and service a week ago, and the fluids and everything are all fine. I have a full tank of gas. The car is not overheating, but something is wrong electrically.

Losing power on a big car (it's a Dodge Magnum with a V8 HEMI engine!) is very unnerving. I am still shaky.

I got it home, and I am awaiting the tow truck now.

I can drive my old car this week while my son is traveling some. That's a hidden blessing, I guess.

Anyway, I'm ok. But it was scary!

My son "Elwood" and I got dressed up tonight and headed into St. Paul for a fabulous piano recital by the incomparable Emanuel Ax, who played Beethoven and Schumann. He played the "Appassionata" sonata of Beethoven and one of my favorite Schumann pieces, the set called "Papillons," as well as an early Beethoven sonata and a Schumann Fantasy. Heaven.

Thought it would be fun to share a few photos of mother and son here. I am looking rather puffy and tired, as you can see, but Elwood is spiffy enough for the both of us!

Hope you all had a great night. I loved sharing the recital with my son, whatever his name is!

Princess Polly and her very loving owner. Two girls! today! Polly went to the vet for help with her eyes, which tend to get inflamed and irritated. She was such a good patient that the veterinary assistants dressed her up with a bow and bandanna. She even smells nice! Almost like a trip to the groomer. Anyway, she's happy to be home and is now sound asleep.

Love these photos.

We take care of each other, mother and son, son and mother.

Such balance in the way we change. I love these two photos together.

I have a wonderful son.

Poem for today (found on Garrison Keillor's wonderful site,
www.writersalmanac.publicradio.org )

Poem: "Undelivered Mail" by Rhina P. Espaillat
from Playing at Stillness. © Truman State University Press.

Undelivered Mail

Dear Daughter,
Your father and I wish to commend you
on the wisdom of your choices
and the flawless conduct of your life

Dear Poet!
Where is the full-length manuscript
you promised us?
Your check is waiting
The presses are ready
and the bookstores are clamoring for delivery

Darling,
This convention is tedious
beyond belief:
the hotel is swarming with disgustingly overexposed women
far too young to have dignity or any minds at all

Dear Patient:
The results of your blood tests reveal
that your problem stems from
a diet dangerously low in pizza and chocolate

Dear Mom,
You were right about everything
and I was an idiot not to listen.

I've got the flu. Bad. I feel as though I've been run over, and every joint and fiber in my body is aching.

Please send me some "there, there, it'll be ok" hugs, virtually speaking. I promise you can't catch my flu that way.

This is the painting on my bedroom wall which I see when I'm in bed. I love her. She is keeping me company, more than tv or music. I'll tell you about the painting next time I blog.

I had a wise and deep grandfather. He helped to raise us in Vermont. He took my mom and my sister and me in and we lived with Grampa and Nana in a small three-bedroom house with one bathroom, three generations of us, for much of my growing-up years. He was my father figure, and when I grew up, he became a friend to me. I couldn't wait for a chance to visit him, and even when we lived many states apart, I made those trips to Vermont every year to spend a few weeks with him. Lots of good times together. He died ten years ago, at age 92.

It snowed hard here this week and is still snowing. I think of Grampa Marvin and how he loved weather, snowfalls, and the hard work and challenges that they would bring. He loved to shovel. He loved to get out into the woods on his snowshoes, too.

When I came in from being out in the snow just now, I sat down in my son's room and saw Grampa Marvin's hat. The same hat that is in this photo from around 1980! It's something very special, that we have this hat. I've even seen my son wear it, though only in the house.

I think of Grampa so often. He was very quiet but also told good stories. I wish he were here tonight to sit and talk with me. I have a feeling he'd enjoy this snowfall. I miss him, sometimes more than I miss either of my parents. When I'm making big decisions, as I am these days, I want to run them by him. I suppose I still can, if I listen very hard.

Happy Snow Day from a Girl and her Dog, Minnesota-style....