Another step closer to departure . . . .
8:30 a.m. I park the Perfect Tow Vehicle in a NOT-handicapped space. The PTV is in for an electric brake controller. I point out to Arturo, the mechanic, that the oil light is on although there’s plenty of oil in the engine and the oil pressure is fine. I also mention the ever-present engine light, which the repair guy at the dealership said was “an emission system leak..” . . . this according to the idiot-light code, not eye-balling or testing. Arturo nods his head, says something I can’t understand, and sets to work.
I settle in for a long summer’s wait.
I’ve got my 25-cent senior discount coffee and my kindle to keep me happy. Good thing, because it’s three-and-a-half hours before Arturo reappears with the ticket. I’m still happy because the labor for everything is $100+ less than what the dealership quoted me.
Arturo tells me he didn’t detect any emissions leak, so he reset the engine light. Yay. As for the oil light, he suggests I get the oil changed, and when I do, make sure I “don’t get a cheap Fram filter.” Okay, thanks for the tip. I ask him to show me how the new brake controller operates, so out to the PTV we go. He hooks up a tester. “This is just like hooking up your trailer. So get in and we’ll pretend you’ve got the trailer hooked up.”
I hop in.
Immediately I’m happy to see the controller is in a good position to the right of my right knee. Arturo explains the green light that changes to orange to red and how to adjust the amount of braking applied by the trailer brakes. I experiment with changing the adjustment and watch the needle on the tester move accordingly. A very good, little, on-the-spot, Arturo tutorial. (Say those last two words five times fast.) Now I know how to use the controller and I’ve also got a pretty good handle on Arturo’s accent!
I pay the bill and step outside to return a call to the dermatologist’s office.
The lady on the phone tells me that they have the results of the biopsy done on my nose last week. Oh no, here it comes. Unfortunately, it isn’t the least-of-all-skin-cancer evils (basal cell). Rather it’s the next step up, a moderately evil skin cancer known as squamous. The lady says I need to have the MOHS procedure (layers of tissue removed until all gone). I tell her I’m leaving the area Aug. 13th, so could it be scheduled before then? She says she’ll see what she can do and call me back.
Oh darn!
I admit I’m a bit squeamish about the squamish, so to speak. Another needle in the nose, ugh. After a few minutes adjusting to the idea, I get my perspective back. To be in your sixties, no pills to pop every day, feeling pretty good, and the biggest worry is a little dot on the nose? Of all the things that could be wrong with me at this stage in my life, I’ll take this and be glad.
Major change of topic alert!
Today is the day to say goodbye to Janie. I can’t do it! Not today! I text my friend who’s at work asking to postpone. Since I now know I’m here in this house until the 13th, what’s the hurry? I want as few days as possible for the crew and I to feel the pain of her absence from this house. I’m hoping being on the road will distract us. All that’s necessary is a few days before we leave to make sure she’s going to adjust to her new home.
It’s now the hottest part of the day — good time for a movie!
Too bad Redbox’s selection is so crappy. The title isn’t even worth mentioning. I know, whaddayaspect for a dollar?
rvsue
I apologize for the lack of photos. You don’t need to see a brake controller and my squammy old nose.
rvsue and her canine crew 