Thank Heavens

The thunder rumbles across the sky, ominous and threatening. Yet, after weeks of clear skies and warm temperatures, the sound couldn't be any more welcome. Standing by the window I listen anxiously for the sound of the first raindrop as it pelts the window, praying it arrives soon and stays all afternoon. I watch closely as the wind whips up a flurry of dust from the parched earth below. The withering grass and wilting flowers all seem to be screaming for even the slightest drink to quench their listless forms. The entire landscape is desperate for it, waiting with baited breath as the thunder continues it's wandering warning. The breeze cools and seems to whisper, as it's moist breath weaves it's way through the open window, "rain is coming, rain is coming."

"Please, please, bring the rain" I pray.

Plink, plunk, plink. I hear it, softly at first and then increasingly heavier and finally a strong steady downpour. The earth sighs gratefully, the flowers smile and I breath a sigh of relief.

Dear Isuzu....

Earlier this fall I took my car in for an oil change and found out not only was the fan belt going but my tires were getting dangerously warn down. If you drive a midsize SUV which is your main sort of transportation during the winter months through snow and ice at all hours of the day or night, frequently before MODOT has the opportunity to prepare the roadways for you, the cost of tires can be ridiculous. Start a bidding war between retailers eager for your business promising to beat your competitors, and you're facing a brief loss of breath rather than loss of consciousness and your bank account. (Brief side note; all my financial comparisons are based on my solitary income from 40hrs/wk. $120/tire can take a serious toll on your bank account.) Thankfully this winters mild temperatures have been a blessing and allowed my procrastination to linger. But when the mechanic tells me there's a leak in my fuel tank and it needs to be replaced procrastination is no longer an option. For those, like myself, who haven't read the Dummies Guide to Car Mechanics, a leaky gas tank significantly increases your chances of a car blowing up on you. I will admit the fact initially escaped me until my friend and boss's astonished face managed to get the point across when he found out what the issue was and learned I was still driving my car. I stopped that night. Here's the kicker, when the mechanic told me about the leak he made sure to inform me that Isuzu had a recall on the same issue for the same year and model as my car a few years back. I hadn't ever received notice on any recall so he gave me all of the necessary information and told me to call the dealer to find out if my VIN was included. I called the next day only to find out that no, the 5 passenger vehicles were not included in this recall. The 7 passenger Ascenders were recalled. My VIN wasn't included though and "Thank you very much Mrs Alioto, but I'm sorry we can't do anything to help you," ended the conversation. I don't normally give up easily but I figured that was it. So I went about having an estimate for repairs done only to find out this lovely piece of plastic that holds the 20 gallons of fuel to get me from A to B will cost me between $500 and $800. This is where the story gets fun. Apparently Isuzu Ascenders and Chevy Trailblazers are the same SUV. But Isuzu puts its own identification numbers on each part, but buys the parts from GM. So if you want to replace an Isuzu part with an Isuzu part you'll pay more. Not only that but this make and model car were installed with two different fuel tanks during that year. One with a fuel filter attached to the tank and one that was separate. If you want to know which one your vehicle has you have to remove the tank and look at the top side. Anyone heard that labor costs increase every time the mechanic works on your car? I'm ready to quite my job and become a mechanic, at $85/hour pay can't be that bad.

I do have to say in my mechanics defense, he has been awesome. The first one to encourage my pestering the manufacturer about the tank and he was definitely aghast when I said they wouldn't do anything. He told me to call again and ask to speak to a superior. I have and still got the same answer.

Here's the bottom line now. I can purchase a tank from Weber Chevy that should fit my car for around $580 and pay for the labor costs from my mechanic to install it, but the rub here is that the tank will not be under warranty, which is only for a year. Or I can purchase it second hand from a junk yard, and pay our company handy man to install it for a grand total of around $400 for parts and labor. But no warranty, no guarantee it will fit, and no security that if the installation is wrong I'll have it repaired without additional cost. Or I keep it at the mechanic have him buy the part for $773 from GM it gets here in two days, and after I pay a total of $1164 I'll have a new fuel tank with warranty, a job I can feel secure about and a promise to repair it if something goes wrong and I'll have my car back sometime next week. I took the last option for now.

Remember when I said I don't normally drop things easily? I'd gone along grumbling until today when I started looking at the numbers more and became more frustrated with the entire situation. After a talk with my mom, who very sweetly reminded me to be the "squeaky wheel", I started doing a bit more research. Turns out, I'm not the only one that has been in this situation. Apparently others have dealt not only with the same or similar problem with the fuel tank but have also been turned away by Isuzu to pay out of pocket to fix it! I can't believe there hasn't been another recall. As I've learned countless times before, always follow your mothers advice, so I'm dedicating my time to being a squeaky wheel. Because, as we know, no one can stand a squeaky wheel for any lengthy period of time. Sometimes you just have to make a little noise for someone to pay attention.

OK Isuzu, this IS NOT right!! The evidence is here, and if you need more documentation or a little more noise to take action, you'll get it. Or, if nothing else I'll be sure to keep my receipt and hopefully when you get around to submitting the recall, I'll be sure to let you know I"m ready for my refund.

For now, if you know of anyone with an 03-04 Isuzu Ascender with a faulty Fuel tank who had to repair it out of pocket PLEASE leave me a comment! Or if you know of a website I can visit that lists other similar issues, let me know! Hopefully this blog will have a part 2 with a happier ending soon.

Oh yeah, the tires are gonna have to wait.

2012 Projects

The bread is together and rising, my apartment remains in desperate need of a cleaning, and I have Julie and Julia on while I'm finally sanding down my end table in the hopes of having it completely repainted by the end of the day. Pine dust not only covers my floor, but my pants hands and several pieces of furniture. I am off in search of primer and newspaper, my mothers eyebrows reached new heights when she asked what I was doing and I told her I was going to finally paint the table, until I reassured her newspaper would be put down. I'd have thought it was a given, but apparently a reminder was needed. So, off I go, paper, primer and potentially a pause to make lunch for the kiddos, otherwise I may be sacrificed instead. Lunch is serious business around here. Possibly a good idea considering paint covered hands don't do well with sandwiches.

Sanding complete. Now for the primer.

Also on the agenda today? Curtains up in Miguel's room. Which means cutting and sewing. Not my forte, but I don't think a basic rectangle is completely out of my reach. Let's hope I can still manage sewing a strait line better than I can draw one. Too bad the artistic talent bypassed me and went strait to my sister and brother. Pictures to follow from both projects.

Some Good Advice

Wish I could take credit for this, but it just came through an email from a dear pen pal of mine. Liked it so much I had to share. It's been printed and will be displayed on my refrigerator for future reference. 



ONE...  Give   people more than they expect and do it   cheerfully.   

TWO...   Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as   important as any other.  

THREE...  Don't   believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.  

FOUR...   When you say, 'I love you,' mean   it.   

FIVE...  When you say, 'I'm sorry,' look the person in the  eye.  

SIX...  Be   engaged at least six months before you get   married.  

SEVEN... Believe   in love at first   sight.   

EIGHT...  Never   laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.   

NINE...   Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it’s the only way to live life completely.   

TEN.. .  In disagreements, fight fairly. 

ELEVEN...   Don't   judge people by their   relatives.  

TWELVE...   Talk slowly but think   quickly.  

THIRTEEN...  When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, 'Why do you want to know?'  

FOURTEEN...   Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk. 

FIFTEEN...   Say ’bless you' when you hear someone sneeze.   

SIXTEEN...   When you lose, don't lose the   lesson.  

SEVENTEEN...   Remember the three  R's: Respect for self; Respect for  others;  and Responsibility for all your actions.   

EIGHTEEN...   Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.   

NINETEEN...   When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct   it.  

TWENTY...  Smile, when picking up the phone.  The caller will hear it in your voice   

TWENTY-   ONE... Spend some time alone.  

Hittin' It

His rhythm echoed through the studio, sending intricate vibrations over the floor and up through the stairwell. I could hear every individual tap as his foot hit the floor. The rhythm so familiar, the steps began to play out in my own head as I made my way past the girls gym, the sound of the dozen basketballs creating a simple bass line for the increasingly complex rhythm now reaching my ears. My toes ached to be free of my tight heels and in my beloved well worn pair of taps. Ba dop ba da ba domp ba da ba da ba da da domp, resistance is futile, I pause in the hallway and click out the beat in my black patent leathers with a basketball chorus. Three repeats and a break and I manage to satisfy the initial craving long enough to shed out of school clothes into a more comfortable pair of jeans, t-shirt and ankle socks, and race down the single flight of stairs and make a flying leap into the studio. He doesn't stop despite my loud introduction. It simply enhances his determination. He's no longer stationary as I'd assumed. His warmup complete, the steps increase in pace and complexity as he makes his way around the floor. Step, stamp, slide, riff, slide. He's picked up a few new steps from a master. Quick percussive turns take him in a full circle around the room and I sit in quiet appreciation of his immense talent and ability, my jealousy at bay. My own shoes seem determined to prevent me from joining the game playing out before me. With each additional knot in the laces my own frustration at not being on my feet increases. The frustration teaming in me appears to be mirrored in each stamp echoing about the room. I can nearly predict what step comes next before it begins, despite his improvising. The simple pitter patter has grown into a detailed dance, and I am undecided as to who is winning this quarter, emotion or focus. Finally, my laces give way and I'm on my feet. Improv was never my forte, but I watch and listen intently, waiting to find his pattern, to feel where the steps are coming from. He hasn't stopped, not once, and his breathing is heavier, yet his energy only seems to increase. Finally I catch his beat, his rhythm, and join in. Our combined efforts bouncing off the walls complimenting one another. The steps are different yet the goal is the same. Two different dances set to the same music, life. For this one moment it's just us. Hitting out a rhythm all our own. Hitting, hitting, hitting. No one's better than the other, age difference is gone, no sibling rivalry. It's just the taps. Who knows where it will end. Dancing side by side silently acknowledging and appreciating the other. No need for words, we just dance. Faster, slower, simple, complicated, on it goes, complimenting the other. We know the step before the other suggests it. Inevitably, his smile breaks, the concentration steady, the joy seaps through. No longer tight faced and focused, tapping has done the trick and the problem is solved. But we keep going, joy and excitement encouraging us onward. The thrill removes all sense of fatigue and previous worry. The stress of the day is gone and all other challenges will find a solution at a later time. Hittin' it, hittin' it. The happy beat bounces up the stairwell. The school could have assembled in the small room and we'd never have noticed. Just Josh and I...tapping.

I roll over and close my eyes, praying I can pick up where I left off, sending a quiet thank you for the visit. At least in my dreams we still have dance.  

My brother Joshua found joy in everything he did, but when trouble seemed to strike, it wasn't odd to find him dancing to relieve stress. Josh tapped everywhere; grocery lines, under his desk during class, walking down the hall, around the house, in the shower,...everywhere. I considered myself fortunate when I could join in, although he tended to dance circles around me. I know he's still dancing with me no matter where he is.