Tag Archives: Mazda

Did aliens set my listening choices?

I don’t know why but I seem to attract weirdness, odd events, strange actions.

Last week, I took my Mazda to the dealer’s for its yearly check up.   When I got the car back, I drove off and turned the radio on, expecting my normal NPR programming.  Static.  I punched a button to change the station to my NPR music station.    More static.  I tried my country station and my oldies station.  I have only four stations saved because I’m old and I know what I like.  Yes, static on both of those.

So I hit some other buttons and discovered the only stations that had been saved were Christian music.   I have nothing against Christian music but it appeared after my tastes were set and it’s not the music of my choice.

My thought is that the mechanic working on my car noticed the stations I had saved and thought I must be a godless commie because I listen to NPR and decided to save my soul by adding five Christian stations to the dial.

Perhaps I’m paranoid.  I’ve been known to be.  However the change seems a little suspicious to me.   I deleted the stations someone set for me and found three of my favorite four.   Sadly, I can’t find the NPR music but, hey, I don’t drive that much anymore and I can always listen to Garrison Keeler CDs.

Next week, I’ll blog about the little girl I found standing completely alone in front of my apartment.  Another weird event.  And, sorry, no pictures.  My iMax won’t let me add any.

Tiny bubbles. . . in the windshield

I wasted the morning.  The entire morning.  Four hours–gone, never to be seen or lived again.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a little blurring on the back window of my car but this isn’t a story about the white car.  It’s about that wasted morning.   Because I’m always willing to leave the car or an appliance time to heal themselves, I ignored it.  Two weeks ago, I realized there were bubbles around the defroster wires but I could still see through it.  What are a few bubbles?  I could almost think of them as decorative.   But last week, the number had doubled, then tripled and the windshield wasn’t going to get better by itself.  I called the dealer and set up an appointment for Wednesday, explaining to the man who set the appointment that I had bubbles across the back window.

Many of you may know what the problem was.  I didn’t.  That’s why I called the dealer.   When I took it in, the customer service guy looked at the window and said, “That’s your glass tint.”   I had no idea what he meant.   In a voice dripping with “what-a-stupid-woman-you-are” he said, “The bubbles are in the tint.”   It was as if he were speaking a different language.  Did I have tinted windows?   And, if I did, isn’t tint something that’s brushed on?     Seems not.  Seems as if I am really stupid because everyone knows this.   As I was attempting to sort this out, the manager grabbed me, explaining this employee sometimes speaks too harshly as he escorted me into his office.  He explained well but said that, because this is a used car, the tint wasn’t under warranty.    Hey, if that’s the rule, I’m okay with that.

However, because everyone in the world knows all about tinted glass, I asked the manager, “Why didn’t they tell me this when I called?”   The manager answered, “Maybe you didn’t describe it well.”  Then he said and I am NOT making this up, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   Yes, he said, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   He apologized after losing a few layers of skin. I think I got over to him that this had been a rude and condescending comment.   Then he called the company that does their tinting, set up an immediate appointment, and got me directions there, all done very politely. 

The place was hard to find, taking me two trips down the frontage roads of I-35.   After I found it and handed my keys over, I settled in the waiting room.  After five minutes, a man came in.  I asked, “This will cost about $100?”  He said, “Yes.”  After a pause he added, “We don’t have a credit-card hook up yet because we just opened.  You’ll need cash.”    I never carry more than forty dollars with me.   Carrying a hundred dollars around would terrify me both because I’m a coward and I’m cheap.   And I lose things really easily.   I leaped to my feet–those of you who know me realize this was not a fast leap–and said, “Stop.  I don’t have that much money.”   Of course they don’t take checks so the man said, “Don’t worry.  We’ll just charge it to the dealership.”    Sadly, I have a deep vein of honesty.  George always said I was a twit.  I do things like give too much change back.     Nothing to do but go back home.

So, at 12:30, four hours after I left the house, I returned still with bubbles in the back window.   I took a nap.  But I do have one questions:  Does everyone out there know about bubbles in the tinted windows? 


Took the car in today and found out the fact that I cannot read the speedometer because it is hidden in a deep well is a design problem which cannot be fixed because it IS in a deep well with no additional lighting.   In September, George bought me a 2003 Mazda which is a really great car but I fear a myriad of speeding tickets lurk in my future.  Also, it’s–sigh–white.  I’ve decorated with with a Kansas State Power Cat magnet on one side and a University of Louisville Cardinal on the other but I still can’t find it in the parking lot the way I could my yellow car.   In fact, I’ve stood next to white cars clicking my remote to unlock the doors and cursing (only in the nicest way) that the battery in the remote must be low.  Fortunately it only takes a few minutes before I realize it is not my car and move on to the next white car.

Little by little, I’m checking off tasks.  I got the extension of income tax paperwork in to the IRS Wednesday, the health insurance straightened out and in my name, information to Social Security, and many thank you notes written to our dear and generous friends.  I’ve worked on my novels a little but am still having trouble getting a read on the love interest in the fourth Butternut Creek novel  for which I’m attempting to put together a proposal with a brain low on creativity.

But I’m doing better.   For example, George loved olives.  The sight of the olive bar at H-E-B only makes me sad not burst out in tears.  Those breakdown have been  frightening for the ladies at the nearby sushi counter.  

I’m also reading the other books that have been nominated for the RITA in my category.  They are wonderful.  I’m honored to be in that group. 

Next Monday, I have two events on this blog.  On Monday, I’ll start the day highlighting the cover of Alexa Bourne’s newest novel.   Later in the afternoon, I’ll tell you about Kris Fletcher whose first published novel–A Better Father–was available a week ago.  Great book!  To my delight, Kris will blog here on Tuesday.  She’ll be telling us about the changes in her life as a published author with edits and promos at the same time she deals with her twenty or thirty–or maybe five–children.  Hope you’ll stop by.

A little late blogging today

I woke up this morning and realized this is Tuesday, my day to blog and I had nothing!  

There is a good reason.  I bought a new car.   By new car, I mean new to me.  

Twelve years ago, George bought me a brand new yellow Ford Focus.  I love cars in bright colors both because they make me happy and because I can find them easily in a parking lot.  It worked wonderfully.  Never had to spend money except for oil changes and new tires.

Until two years ago.  My battery kept running down.  I had to have it jumped every three or four months and bought four new batteries.  At the same time, when I got into the car and before I put the key in the ignition, the radio would come on.  I believed the radio was draining the battery so set an appointment with the radio specialist at the dealership to check it.   He said (I paraphrase here), “Lady, you’re nuts.  There’s nothing wrong,” because—in my experience–mechanics never listen to women.  I could go on and on about this but I won’t in this blog.

And yet, the radio kept turning on and the battery kept running down.  I had the radio removed.   Didn’t change things and still no one could find a reason for this.  Yes, I know it was a short in the electrical system but, “Lady, there’s nothing wrong with your car,” but they couldn’t explain  the new batteries.  I had to keep AAA on speed dial.

I’m on deadline:  October 1 for The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek.  When the car wouldn’t start last Wednesday, I had it jumped and drove it for thirty minutes, I thought the charge would last three or four months and I’d have plenty of time to look for a new car after October 1 because it was obvious I need a car that starts without the aid of jumper cables.

But the charge didn’t last.  Saturday morning, the battery was dead again. 

Monday, we bought a new (to me) car, pictured above.  It’s a 2008 Mazda 3 and is so pretty and clean but it’s white!   In the picture my dear husband took, my Power Cat (the logo of  my Alma Mater, Kansas State University) shows up beautifully against the white.

But the car is white and I won’t be able to find it in the parking lot.  My plan is to do something on the roof of the car to identify it.  I’m thinking a purple stripe to match the Power Cat.  I should be able to pick that out in a parking lot.

I am open to suggestion.  What do you think would brighten up and make my new car easier to identify?