The first thing is, my taillight came today! It only took three weeks for it to get here–I think someone in Pennsylvania was a wee bit forgetful–but the ’87 Ford F-150 driver’s side taillight assembly with bulb sockets and a few inches of wiring was a welcome sight.
The weather was sunny and cool, about 45°F. Under these conditions, if you’re out of the wind and in the sun, it feels warm, even if it isn’t. Naturally I couldn’t resist jumping right into the task of installing the replacement taillight. It was a real junkyard item, all right: dusty and scratched, but otherwise okay. The old bulbs were still inside the sockets, too. Would they work?
There were five wires to splice in all, fortunately color-coded. I got out my little Radio Shack wire stripping widget, removed about 3/4 inch of insulation from the 10 ends, and hooked up each wire with one of those little metal splicing connectors you mash together with a pair of pliers. Being somewhat more sensible in my advancing maturity than in days gone by, I didn’t squat on the ground to perform this task, but set up a lawn chair next to the lowered tailgate, where I had fresh coffee and refreshments at hand. Luxury auto repair!
Somehow I remembered to test my work before screwing the taillight assembly into place. More amazing still, everything worked, including the old bulbs that came with the unit. The force was with me. I finished the job sooner than I’d expected, marveling that after all the trouble with having the truck vandalized, getting the right part, etc. etc., the final result was the same dirty old ’87 Ford truck I’d had before, albeit a functioning one. Six weeks and $45 later, I was right back where I started, but glad to be there.
Throughout all this, the cat was in the immediate vicinity, patrolling a nearby brush pile for errant field mice and chipmunks. I celebrated my great accomplishment by having some tequila outdoors and then dozing a few minutes in the sun. When I opened my eyes, I saw the cat walking toward the front door with a struggling mouse in her mouth. Usually I take those away from her if I can, just because they’re covered with fleas, and New Mexico is one of the few places in America where you can still get bubonic plague. This time I was too tired to bother, but I did shout and shoo her away from the door. She carried the hapless creature to the other side of the driveway and proceeded to eat: chomp, chomp, chomp.
About then I got up to head into the house. She saw me and knew the front door would be opening, so she ran to the doorway with the remainder of her meal. “Oh no, you don’t!” I said, shooing her away from the carcass with my foot, “You’re not taking THAT inside!” (She’d already eaten the head and front legs.)
I bent down to retrieve the rear half of the mouse and then noticed a barely perceptible movement in the exposed internal organs: why, it had to be the little heart, still beating! As I picked up the remains by one of the hind legs, a few tiny drops of blood spurted out onto the ground…
SACRIFICE!
Not worthy of the Aztecs, perhaps, but the enterprise is blessed.
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Inspirational! I love it when man, cat, pickup and mouse come together in the writerly imagination. Man and cat were doing what each was meant to do. The pickup and mouse were along for the ride, but also performing their own roles in the great drama. The write-up made all this a thing of beauty, comedy and a touch of pathos. Should we give the Tequila some credit?
Why, thank you, and good morning! Tequila should always be given some credit, but not too much. The veil is thin here in el Norte, and things happen…
John. I belive I will have to start drinking tequila , many good storys come from you . It must be the inspiration I’m missing. I just thought of a great old saying,,, great Caesers ghost .you do go on and we enjoy your tales, so much that when we get to Taos I will bbuy a book. Don
You don’t have to wait to buy a book!
But thank you for your generous words, and watch for some ebook news coming very soon.