Though there are those who might disagree, to me, a car is but a car… until it doesn’t start.

Then it becomes a point of frustration. An issue generating discord with the speed of a star falling from the sky.

Yesterday, my youngest daughter who has had my car for the past week as she drove to Vancouver with friends and my car is roomier and newer, called and said, “Your car won’t start.”

She’d arrived back the night before and as it was late, we’d agreed to switch cars the next day.

When her call came in, I was in the middle of working on a report. “The bumper cables are in the garage,” I told her. “You’ll have to get Ryan (her boyfriend) to drive you over.”

“Can’t you bring them over?” she asked.

“No,” I replied after taking a deep breath. In the past, I would jump to, jump at, any opportunity to ‘do’ for my daughters. And while I still like to do, I am learning to set boundaries and to allow them space to be competent in their own lives.

She came. Got the cables. Boosted my car and the day moved on.

Until later that afternoon when once again, it wouldn’t start.

She brought it back. I drove to Canadian tire, remember to take the old battery in the garage with me from one of C.C.’s cars that needed to be recycled. I carried it in. (who knew batteries were so heavy?)

“Do you have the warranty card?” the woman at the service counter asked.

“I have the receipt from when we bought it,” I said, hopefully.

“I’m sorry. We really need the warranty card as it’s a government program.”

Ok. Well, why don’t I just buy a new battery (their service department was closed and couldn’t get to my car until the morning. I was hoping a friend could come and help me switch out the batteries. How hard could it be? Seriously?)

“What’s the size of your engine?” she asked.

“Just the right size to fit under the hood,” I smiled. Again. Hopefully.

Her smile said it all. Yup. One of those women. Knows nothing about cars.

“We need to know the size so we can get you the right size battery. What make of Calibre is it?”

“Um….. Blue?”

She smiled. Sort of. Again.

“We could use your registration and the VIN to figure it out.”

YEah!  I know what my registration is! I pick up the unreturnable (I think) battery. It’s still heavy. I walk back to my car. Get my registration. Put the old battery back in the trunk and return to the sales desk.

“You know. Seeing as you’re buying a new battery, we could take the old one back and give you the discount.”

“Sure!” I laughingly reply. “I’ll just run back out to my car and get it!”

She apologizes for the error. I laugh it off. Go, get the battery and lug it back in. I think it’s gained 10 pounds in the interim.

Batteries exchanged. Money paid. A few more laughs shared. Ryan set to come later after work to help me install it, I return to my car. I try to balance the battery on one hip as I search for my keys. Where the heck…?

Not wanting to leave my battery in the parking lot, I lug it back to the service counter where I have left my keys. Back to car, (it’s getting heavier by the minute I swear) I drive home and wait for Ryan.

It’s dark when he arrives. We fumble around trying to remove all the nuts and bolts only to discover this battery is bolted into the frame. You need a special tool.

I park it in the garage. Put the battery charger on it and go to bed. At 7am I’m at the dealership hoping to get it installed ASAP. I’m driving to Saskatoon this morning. I want to get going.

Scratch that. I’m driving to Saskatoon this afternoon. They can’t get to it until later in the morning.

Sigh.

A car is just a car. Until it won’t start.

How I handle it is what will either drive me crazy… or not.

I’m choosing the non-crazy driving route. It is just a car. And the day is no less sunny and beautiful even if it doesn’t start.

The difference is always in my attitude.