Never at a Convenient Time

The kitchen thermometer read minus 20 and the sign on the Uptown Cafe was swinging. By the arc of each swing I estimated 25 m.p.h. with gusts to thirty. The clanging wind chimes on our front porch underscored the warning. The wind chill was unthinkable. I had finished my outdoor work, walking the dogs, shoveling the snow and stoking the fire. I'd had my supper and reclined in my recliner. The house was at 73 degrees and I had my Kindle ready to sooth my tired bones with music.

The heavenly voices of Benedictine nuns singing chants, which is my kind of Christian music, wrapped my soul in comfort. For years I felt guilt over preferring this music over the kind of worship-team music prevalent in  churches, performed at a decibel level at the threshold of pain, all part of the current bombastic style of worship.

The sweet voices of the nuns carried me to the cusp of sleep when the doorbell rang and the dogs exploded into apoplectic  barks and howls warning us that Jack the Ripper was at the door. Lois answered the door, closing the inner door keeping the dogs at bay.

After a brief exchange Lois returned, "It's the next-door neighbors. Their car won't start and I told them that you'd come out and help them." I took my headphones off and sat up, thinking of how much work it takes to get bundled up, probably akin to the astronauts when they go outside of the International Space Station to do their repair work. Nonetheless I bundled up in snowmobile bibs, Sorel boots, military surplus parka and choppers.

My faithful F-150 truck rumbled to life and I let it run for a few minutes before heading around the block to the helpless Chevy Trailblazer. I opened the hood of my truck and then took out the sixteen foot jumper cables Lois had given me for Christmas. (There's a story behind that.) The Chevy had a side-terminal battery and I struggled to connect to the battery with my hands protected in choppers with double liners. The cold air made my arthritic knuckles burn. 

I nodded at Jeremy inside the car to try it. No heartbeat. The ground cable was connected to a part of the under-hood frame that was covered in plastic. A headlamp was strapped to my Kromer hat and I searched out a suitable metal ground. It started this time but died right away. I told Jeremy to step on the gas when it started and to turn off the radio and automatic headlights.

My hands were now cold inside my choppers and I went inside my truck to slightly rev the engine. I held my burning hands in front of the dash vents.Then I went out again and told Jeremy to try it, reminding him to step on the gas once the motor started. The motor came to life and roared as Jeremy stepped on the gas.

Jeremy and his significant other, Alice a black woman, heartily expressed thanks and I basked in the glow as I took off the cables. 

Jeremy has some disorder that makes his hands shake, Parkinsonian-style. In October he asked me if I would do their snow-removal this winter and I agreed. Jeremy offered no remuneration and I don't want any. 

I took Alleve for my aching hands. Lois sat at her computer and didn't look up. I returned to my music and thanked God that the Chevy had started.