I turned on the car, after opening the hood to see if I could reproduce what Arlene heard (rough running). Instead, I found a large fuel line leak that sprayed all over. I shut the car off really quickly!
Not even below freezing outside this morning, though the sky was cloudy, clearing in the morning.
I’m a bit bored today, and a little listless wondering what I should do with the day. A blue day that happens sometimes, I guess. I actually am going to sit around in my bathrobe for a good part of the day. Arlene is headed to the barn later. We’re waiting for the jute webbing and the cushion foam to be delivered, so the chair is on hold. I think I’ll probably do a bit of reading and writing on the glamour piece. One article that I read yesterday from the University of Pennsylvania Law Review has made me think a bit more broadly about the topic of sex and cars and specifically the relationship of sex, women, and cars. The article was by Carol Sanger (now at Columbia Law School) and is called “Girls and the Getaway: Cars, Culture, and the Predicament of Gendered Space.” I think it’s open access: https://www.jstor.org/stable/3312632. It appeared in 1995. I have found law review articles to be generally pretty nice and useful reads. They’re literate and well written, generally. They present an argument well (the authors, after all, are lawyers). And they don’t fall into the abyss of jargon and tortured prose, unlike so many other articles from other disciplines. I’ve used law review articles in class, too, though students find them challenging sometimes, which I think is a good thing.
I was going to change a burnt out headlight bulb on the truck, but Arlene had to take it to the barn. Her Yaris was sputtering, so I took a look at it. It was a fuel geyser, actually, and I’m grateful that she didn’t take the car to the barn. It is a fire hazard. When I went out I noticed that there was a gasoline smell around the car, but when I opened the hood, I didn’t see any gas wetness. I left the hood open, and started it up. Immediate spray. Aaron and I texted, and he’s ordering the part. Odd that it just happened. It’s a hard fuel line, which makes me think that a squirrel attack is unlikely. But it just appeared all of a sudden. I don’t recall any gas smells before today. The car sat for about a week or so.
There seems always to be something that needs fixing on cars.
I emailed “Mars” at the upholstery shop in California that specializes in exotic and vintage car interiors. I ordered a couple of yards of carpet for the old Porsche and a rear trunk area carpet that they sew up. They manufacture those trunk pieces. I’m not going to mess with the creation of it since it’s fairly complex and the surged edges and irregular shapes to accommodate the spare tire area are beyond what I can do in Rougemont. The carpet in the footwells in the front I can handle, and so I got a raw material for that. Unfortunately, Mars said that things are backlogged a bit, and the items will probably arrive in about four weeks. It’ll be nice to get that stuff in place. I’m debating whether I need to wait on completely fitting the center console, since the carpet in front will have to go under portions of that. I don’t want to take that monstrosity off and refit it. It’s a bear. But it sure would be nice to get moving on the interior. I can hardly wait to get the front seats reupholstered.
Cars occupied the time today, it seems, at least the time that I didn’t spend wasting away with listless abandonment. I had to look at the calendar to determine what day it wa, which was a rather unhappy thing to have to do. That and the wandering around made me wonder if this retirement thing is going to work for me.
I do think that today is a bit out-of-place, and I shouldn’t put too much worry into the mix. I do need to get back into writing more seriously. Glamour awaits.
Late addition: Arlene fetched the mail. The jute webbing was in it. We have some work to do on the chair.